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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848011">All You Have Is Your Fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_finn/pseuds/king_finn'>king_finn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, Blow Jobs, Criminal Everyone, Criminal Geralt, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, Getting Together, Glory Hole, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Prison AU, Prostitute Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn, Solitary Confinement, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, not between main characters though</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:46:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>65,353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848011</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_finn/pseuds/king_finn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"He frowns as he spots an empty table at the other end of the room. “What about him?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The others don’t even follow his line of sight - seemingly already aware who he’s talking about. “The White Wolf,” Istredd tells him, as Jaskier stares at the imposing guy sitting all alone at the table, eyes trained on his plate, face partially shielded by a curtain of white hair."</i>
</p><p> Or: Jaskier is sent to prison for prostitution, where he learns of the White Wolf - a prisoner that doesn't interact with others at all, and who is speculated to have committed some truly heinous crimes. Jaskier, ever curious and with no sense of self-preservation, decides to get to know the guy. Though that proves a bit harder than he had first expected.</p><p>(Prison AU turned Flower Shop AU)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1347</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, so, not a lot happens in the first chapter, but trust me, things get pretty wild real quick. Bigass smut warning for the next few chapters, some of it a bit ~icky~ so proceed with caution.</p><p>Title from Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier.</p><p>Idea from a comment Valkiria99 left on my other fic called "Play With Fire", so thank you very much for that, friend!<br/>This will likely have 4 chapters, but since I'm not done writing yet, and I often underestimate how much my brain can spew out, it might turn into more than 4 chapters.</p><p>Also I know my characterization of Jaskier is a bit... stereotypical for sex workers in this fic. I'm well aware that everyone's story is different, and that there's so much more to sex work than the stereotypes tell us. <b>That being said, no SWERFs allowed here. I better not be seeing anyone hating on sex workers in the comments.</b></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier sighs, tray in slightly trembling hands as he looks around the room, searching for a place to sit. He’s never been a wussy, never been a coward, but the prospect of having to find a place to sit in a room full of convicts makes a pit form in his stomach.</p><p>He’s so glad it’s common courtesy not to ask about anyone’s crimes, here - not only does he prefer not to know what the other guys did, but if they knew why he’s here, he surely wouldn’t last long.</p><p>A hand raises in the crowd, and he sees his cellmate Istredd waving at him. He sighs in relief, making his way over to the table, sitting down.</p><p>Istredd claps him on his back. “Guys, this is Jaskier, Jaskier, these are the guys.” He nods at a middle-aged man with long hair and a grey beard, kindness in his eyes as he nods at Jaskier. “That’s Mousesack. Don’t ask me how he got that name, I don’t know, either, and I’m sure I don’t wanna know,” Istredd says, before nodding to a bald guy with a ginger beard, sitting next to Mousesack. “That’s Yarpen. If you don’t understand a word he says, that’s okay, I don’t either.”</p><p>Yarpen snaps at Istredd in a heavy Scottish accent, and lo and behold, Jaskier barely understands a fucking word the guy says – but he’s sure it’s nothing positive. Mousesack simply snickers into his dinner, shaking his head slightly.</p><p>“Aight, man, whatever you say,” Istredd says, taking a bite of his vegetables.</p><p>Yarpen mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “fuck you, Istredd.”</p><p>Mousesack frowns. “Watch your language in front of the newbie.”</p><p>Another guy sits down heavily on the other side of Istredd, slamming his tray on the table. “I’ve had fucking enough of this shit-ass food.”</p><p>“Language!”</p><p>The newcomer shrugs, spreading his arms dramatically. “Oh, please! Do you know how much I miss fresh vegetables? Herbs? Spices? Even salt! They don’t even fucking use salt!”</p><p>Mousesack seems to give up on trying to get the others to mind their language.</p><p>Istredd sighs. “Yeah, well, Vil, at least you’re out of here in, like, a few months. <em>Some of us </em>are probably gonna be stuck with this shit-ass food for the next couple of years.”</p><p>The newcomer bends forward to look past Istredd. “Who are you?” he asks Jaskier, who swallows thickly, feeling vaguely threatened at his accusing tone.</p><p>“That’s Jaskier,” Istredd answers in his stead, “my new cellmate. Be nice to him, Vil.”</p><p>The other guy - Vil apparently - simply looks at Istredd. “Did Stregobor get out?”</p><p>Istredd shakes his head. “Nah, he died. Cancer or some shit. Whatever, good riddance.”</p><p>Vil laughs, then nods. “Good riddance, indeed. Fucking weirdo, he was.” He extends his hand towards Jaskier, who shakes it tentatively. “I’m Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, by the way.”</p><p>Yarpen rolls his eyes. “Aye, but we just call him, Vil, the pompous bastard.”</p><p>Vil ignores him. “Alright, <em>Jaskier, </em>I’m just gonna assume you’ve never been to prison before. So, rule number one, pretty boy, never shake someone’s hand.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns. “Why?”</p><p>Mousesack replies in Vil’s stead. “Because then they can pull you close and punch you in the face.” He grins. “Used that trick plenty of times, myself.” His eyes remain kind, despite his words, and Jaskier feels a shiver run down his spine.</p><p>“Rule number two,” Vil continues, “choose a group in your first week.”</p><p>“A group?”</p><p>He points to the other side of the room, and Jaskier follows his finger, spotting a group of guys sitting at a table in silence, all bald, all tattooed. “They’re the Reavers. Don’t get close to them unless you want to die.”</p><p>Jaskier nods, and Vil continues, pointing to different tables each time. “Those are the old guys. They’re... old. Don’t recommend them. Those are the juvies, in and out of prison since birth, don’t recommend them either, they’re very clique-y about who gets to join and you don’t seem to fit their criteria. That’s the Brotherhood. They’re weird, believe in magic and shit, so don’t join them unless you’re a freak. That’s the white supremacists. If you join them I will punch you in the face at least once. And that’s-” he waves his hand in the general area of the back of the room “miscellaneous.”</p><p>“And you guys? Which group are you in?”</p><p>Yarpen snickers. “This one, lad. We’re the fucken wankers.”</p><p>Mousesack grins and Istredd nods in agreement. Jaskier smiles. The wankers seem just fine for him, he guesses.</p><p>He frowns as he spots an empty table at the other end of the room. “What about him?”</p><p>The others don’t even follow his line of sight - seemingly already aware who he’s talking about. “The White Wolf,” Istredd tells him, as Jaskier stares at the imposing guy sitting all alone at the table, eyes trained on his plate, face partially shielded by a curtain of white hair. “He’s not really part of any group - trust me, we tried to introduce ourselves, but he just kinda ignored us. Shame really, we could use someone like him.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns again. “Why?”</p><p>Yarpen grins into his cup. “Cause he’s fucken terrifying.”</p><p>Mousesack nods in agreement. “Yeah, no one’s really sure what he’s done to get here but... there are rumours.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“The most popular one is that he’s a serial killer. Some say he’s a hitman, others say he works for the mob. Whatever the case - everyone stays out of his way, and I suggest you do too, if you know what’s good for you.”</p><p>“Or he might kill me?”</p><p>Mousesack nods, then shrugs. “Possibly.”</p><p>Jaskier looks at the White Wolf again, startling as he meets eyes the colour of molten gold, and he looks away again, blush creeping up his face.</p><p>It’s quiet for a few seconds, until Vil leans forward again, dark eyes taking in Jaskier’s face. “So what’re you here for, pretty boy?”</p><p>He feels his blush deepening, averts his eyes, sweat gathering on his palms. He can’t say, can’t tell, because lord knows what might happen if he does. “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mutters, and Vil shrugs, leaning back again.</p><p>“Got ourselves a shy lad,” Yarpen says, earning him an elbow in his side from Mousesack.</p><p>“He doesn’t have to tell if he doesn’t want to.” The older man looks at Jaskier. “How long you in for, buddy?”</p><p>“Six months.”</p><p>Istredd nods. “So you did nothing too bad, then. Lucky you.”</p><p>Jaskier decides he doesn’t even want to know what Istredd did, so he doesn’t ask further, pushing his bland vegetables around on his plate. The next time he looks up, the White Wolf is gone.</p><p>---</p><p>That evening, he’s lying in his bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling, hands folded on his stomach, Istredd reading in the bed next to him.</p><p>“So,” he asks after a while, “what’s this White Wolf guy’s deal, huh?”</p><p>“Don’t even think about it,” Istredd says, not looking up from his book.</p><p>Jaskier frowns. “What?”</p><p>“Trying to talk to him and shit like that. I know that’s what you were thinking about. I don’t know you well yet, Jaskier, but you seem like the kinda guy who likes a challenge. The White Wolf isn’t a challenge, he’s dangerous. Stay away from him if you don’t want to die.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns up at the ceiling as he hears the guards in the hall, telling everyone to turn the light off. “Alright, just asking. Was just a bit curious, is all.”</p><p>Istredd puts his book away, turning his back towards Jaskier, pulling his blanket over himself. “Yeah, well, curiosity will only land you in trouble, here. Better for you to just keep your head low and mind your own business, and maybe you’ll make it out of here in one piece.”</p><p>Jaskier sighs softly, as the light turns off, leaving him in darkness. On one hand, he’s more than willing to follow Istredd’s advice, to just keep out of it and go about his life until he can get out of here, but on the other hand – he is curious, has always been, will always be. And Istredd had been right, he likes a challenge, likes getting to know someone who doesn’t want to be known, wants to find out what stories hide behind those amber eyes.</p><p>He’s always loved stories. They kept him company during the dark and lonely hours as a kid, when his parents had been drinking or fighting or were simply not there. They’d helped him through the tough days in school. They were what he collected, alongside his payment, from his clients, before all this happened. They’re probably what’s going to keep him afloat in this place. They’ll probably keep him warm in the days after this.</p><p>It’ll be winter by the time he gets out – people don’t really use his services during the dark, cold days. Married men too busy pretending to be happy with their families during the holidays to pay half a mind to him. Lonely women too busy making new year’s resolutions to consider visiting him. He’s always hated the holidays, always hated the loneliness and cold that travelled hand in hand with the billboards of happy families and pictures of things he could never achieve in his life – joy, happiness, belonging.</p><p>There isn’t any room for prostitutes on billboards or family homes or new year’s resolutions.</p><p>He wonders – now that he’s been arrested, now that he’s lost his reputation and job in the streets – how he’s going to make it through the winter, how he’s not going to freeze or starve in some dumpster alley in a shady part of a run-down city, how he’s going to keep himself afloat. Yes, he can return to his usual spot, but after a few months of not seeing him, his clients will have forgotten him, will have moved on. Besides, if he gets caught again, he’ll have to spend even longer in jail.</p><p>He sighs, rolling onto his side, facing the wall. Well, at least for now, he’ll live, if he just keeps his head down, his nose out of other people’s business. He’ll just have to come up with something before he runs out of time.</p><p>---</p><p>Breakfast is just as disappointing as dinner, really, only a few thin slices of white bread and a half-hearted cup of jam to fill his stomach for the next five hours. He sighs, eating it anyways – it’s better than nothing.</p><p>Yarpen and Vil are arguing about the best way to cook potatoes, as Istredd looks at them, shrugging and saying “you don’t get a lot of entertainment around here” when Jaskier asks him why he’s not breaking up what’s probably gonna turn into a fight. Mousesack is reading a book about the history of sand and how it’s been used in buildings through the ages, barely paying attention to the younger guys.</p><p>Jaskier already feels more at home with these people than he’s felt with anyone in a while.</p><p>Still, his eyes drift across the room, catching on the broad figure that’s sitting alone at a table on the other side of the room, gaze once again trained on the tray in front of him, white hair shielding his face like a curtain. Golden eyes snap up to meet Jaskier’s, but this time he doesn’t look away, though he does feel a blush creeping up his neck.</p><p>The White Wolf stares at him for a few seconds, until Mousesack suddenly appears between them, obscuring the broad man from Jaskier’s view.</p><p>“Do continue antagonizing what might be the most dangerous person in this prison, if you want to end up bleeding out in the bathrooms, buddy,” the older man tells him, and Jaskier’s blush deepens, as he looks at the table.</p><p>“My bad,” he mumbles.</p><p>Istredd pushes his shoulder, Yarpen and Vil’s fight about proper potato preparation no longer entertaining enough. “Come on, dude, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Don’t let that cynical old man scare you.”</p><p>“I’ll remind you that this cynical old man has been here longer than the both of you combined,” Mousesack retorts.</p><p>Istredd snorts. “Nearly everyone’s been here longer than the both of us combined. You ain’t special.” He turns back to Jaskier. “Hey, wanna visit the library later? You seem like a guy who knows how to read.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks, then nods. “I <em>do </em>know how to read, I’m glad you noticed.”</p><p>Istredd laughs as that, as Mousesack shakes his head slightly, muttering something under his breath about <em>kids these days.</em></p><p>---</p><p>The library is quiet, damp and oppressing, with very few windows in the walls, a low ceiling and fluorescents. Still, Jaskier loves it, loves the peace, loves being able to scour between the shelves, finger tracing over worn spines gently.</p><p>He’s near the back of the library now, the shelves growing dustier, the carpet mustier, the lights more and more broken, casting flickering shadows across the walls.</p><p>He stops dead in his tracks when he turns a corner and sees the White Wolf. He’s looking at a book in his hand, staring at the back cover quizzically. He looks up as Jaskier slowly approaches.</p><p>“Hi,” he says, waving awkwardly, before extending his hand. <em>Rule number one, pretty boy, never shake someone’s hand. </em>“I’m Jaskier.”</p><p>The White Wolf glares at him a couple of seconds, before setting the book back on the shelf. “Hmm.” He turns around, and walks away.</p><p>Jaskier frowns, then shrugs. At least the guy didn’t kill him. <em>Yet. </em>He walks to the shelf, where the White Wolf had been standing, mere seconds ago, fingers trailing across the spines until he finds the thin, black book the guy had been holding.</p><p>It’s ‘<em>The Picture of Dorian Gray,’ </em>and he frowns. He’s not sure what this book is about – he’s never read it before – but he shrugs, and takes it to the front desk, checking it out to read later. Maybe it’ll tell him something about the White Wolf, maybe it won’t – either way, it’ll chase the boredom away.</p><p>---</p><p>Jaskier decides lunch is his favourite meal of the day, when he finds a cup of yoghurt on his tray.</p><p>“I’ll trade you my cup for one of your crackers,” Vil says, when Jaskier declares his love for yoghurt. He accepts, and delights in the fact that there’s at least something to look forward to every day, now.</p><p>“So,” he asks, mouth full of yoghurt, “what else is there to do here, besides reading?”</p><p>Istredd shrugs. “There’s a tv in the recreation room, though most afternoons it’s just reruns of <em>‘Days of Our Lives’. </em>There’s a field outside, as well, where we sit when the weather is nice. We’re going there this afternoon, you can join us if you like.”</p><p>Jaskier shrugs. “Sure, why not?”</p><p>Istredd nods. “Cool. Besides that, you can get a job if you want, like cooking or cleaning or doing the laundry. Shit like that. Tomorrow’s Monday, right?” Jaskier nods. “Cool, then you can go to the head office, see if you can get a job or something.”</p><p>“Thanks, I’ll do that. How much does it pay, though?”</p><p>Istredd shrugs. “Depends on what you do. I work in the metal workshop – where we make license plates and shit – which is the highest-paying one, and I get like, five bucks a day. If you work in the kitchen or laundry place, I think you only get four.”</p><p>“Three,” Yarpen butts in. “Ye get three for laundry.” Mousesack nods in agreement.</p><p>Jaskier chews on his lower lip. “Well, shit, guess I should ask for a job at the workshop, then.”</p><p>Vil snorts. “Good luck with that, pretty boy, every inmate wants a job at the workshop, so you’re gonna have to get in line for that.”</p><p>Jaskier sighs softly. He’d hoped that he could save up a decent amount of money here, so he could maybe pay rent for at least a month when he got out – but no way that he’s going to manage that with only three dollars a day. So then what? Maybe get a motel room the first week? Work from there? Because there’s no way he can worm his way into another House, so soon after getting out of prison – besides, they prefer guys and girls who haven’t gone to prison yet. After all, the cops might start keeping an eye on him from now on.</p><p>But clients also really don’t like motel rooms, especially not cheap ones. So then what? He has no family to crash at – and no way they would permit him to work from their house if he did. He’s not sure if he’ll have friends, either, when he gets out – once you’re gone, the people on the streets forget fairly quickly.</p><p>So he’ll be broke, alone, and cold. Fantastic. Absolutely great.</p><p>“You okay?” He looks up at Mousesack’s voice, paling when he sees everyone at the table staring at him. “You look a bit distressed. Everything alright, buddy?”</p><p>He smiles, probably quite unconvincingly, blinking the tears away. “Yeah, everything’s fine, why you ask?”</p><p>Mousesack simply stares at him for a couple of seconds. “You know you can tell us if something’s wrong, right?”</p><p>He nods. “Yeah, totally. But nothing’s wrong, so…”</p><p>“Alright, if you say so.” Yeah, the other guys are definitely not convinced, but luckily, they each turn back to their own food, conversation starting to pick up again, the tension slowly dissipating.</p><p>Jaskier looks around the room, once again finding the White Wolf all alone at a table. He frowns. “Hey, does that guy even have a cellmate? Surely he talks to his cellmate, right?”</p><p>“Who?” Vil asks. “The White Wolf? Nah, he’s literally the only person in this prison who hasn’t got a cellmate. Last time they tried to give him one, the other guy started begging the director for a transfer after like a week or so – wouldn’t tell why, but he was very adamant about not having to sleep in the same cell as the White Wolf anymore.”</p><p>“Wait, really? And no one knows what happened?”</p><p>“Nope. Either way, the staff thought it better to just let the guy have his own cell before he, like, kills someone.”</p><p>The White Wolf looks up, locking eyes with Jaskier, glowering at him. Jaskier raises his hand awkwardly, giving him a shaky wave and a half-smile. The White Wolf narrows his eyes, then gets up, dumping his tray on the tray collector, stalking out of the room.</p><p>“It’s almost like ye want to die, lad,” Yarpen mutters, giving Jaskier a weird look.</p><p>He shrugs. “I’m sure he’s not <em>that </em>bad, right? He seems alright.”</p><p>Istredd snorts next to him. “Oh, yeah, you definitely have a death wish. Just ask him to not kill you in the middle of the night, would you? I’d hate to be collateral damage.”</p><p>Jaskier laughs. “Yeah, sure, will do. I’ll just walk up to him like ‘<em>hi, Mr. Wolf, my friend Istredd is kinda scared of you, and would hate for you to kill him. Works in the metal workshop, sleeps in cell 24A, black, blue eyes, short hair, can’t miss him’.</em>”</p><p>Istredd pushes his shoulder, grinning. “Shut the fuck up, man.”</p><p>“You two!” a guard shouts behind them, and they both turn around. “No fighting!”</p><p>Jaskier frowns. “We weren’t-“ Istredd’s hand on his shoulder cuts him off, and he turns to his friend.</p><p>“Just leave it, dude, they’re just looking for an excuse to discipline you.”</p><p>He nods, casting one last look at the guard, before turning back around.</p><p>“Fucking assholes, they are. You better watch your back, pretty boy, they’re not here to serve and protect or whatever shit they tell you. They’re sadists, and won’t hesitate to beat you up,” Vil mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Just try to stay out of their way, and keep your head down.”</p><p>He nods hesitantly. “Right, will do.”</p><p>---</p><p>They spend the afternoon lazing in the summer grass, chatting amongst each other, gossiping a bit – Jaskier finds out people gossip a lot here, since there is not much else to do, anyways. At some point he finds himself with his head in Vil’s lap, reading the book he had gotten from the library, as Vil sunbathes, hands folded behind his own head. Yarpen and Mousesack are playing cards, Istredd is bent over a book on herbology – he has a special interest in plants and nature, he told Jaskier.</p><p>It’s quiet and peaceful, with the sound of the soft breeze and the distant chatter of the other inmates almost lulling him to sleep. He could get used to this, really – it’s been so long since he had the chance to lay in the grass, enjoy the sunshine, and spend time with people he would consider his friends.</p><p>At some point he feels eyes on him, and he tips his head back a bit on Vil’s thighs, the world turning upside down. About fifty feet away, he sees the White Wolf, standing against the gate, arms folded in front of his chest, staring at Jaskier.</p><p>He blinks, then trains his eyes back on the book, no longer registering the words in front of him. “Vil?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“The White Wolf is staring at me.”</p><p>“Then you shouldn’t have waved at him during lunch, pretty boy.” His voice is sleepy, relaxed, and despite his worries, Jaskier can feel himself calm down as well.</p><p>“Hold on, lemme just…”</p><p>He tips his head back again, finding amber eyes still looking at him.</p><p>“Don’t you dare-“ Vil warns right before Jaskier raises his hand, grinning as he waves at the White Wolf. “Oh my fucking god, dude. You have a death wish.”</p><p>The White Wolf looks away. Jaskier keeps staring a little longer, before turning back to his book. “He’s no longer looking.”</p><p>“He’s probably planning where and when to murk you.”</p><p>“Well, he better fucking keep me out of it,” Istredd mutters.</p><p>“Out of what?” Mousesack asks, looking up from his cards, distracted.</p><p>“Jaskier waved at the White Wolf again,” Vil fills in for him, slinging his arm over his eyes, shaking his head slightly as he grins. “The fucking idiot.”</p><p>Mousesack shakes his head as well as Yarpen laughs. “Is that why you didn’t want to tell us why you’re here? Did they simply arrest you for being so stupid?”</p><p>Jaskier laughs. “No, they arrested me because I’m so handsome it’s illegal.”</p><p>He laughs again as Vil moves his hand down, smacking him in the face. “You’re insufferable. Seriously, though, why’re you here?”</p><p>He puts the book on his stomach, frowning up at the azure sky. Yes, he knows it’s common courtesy to not ask someone why they’re in prison. Yes, he knows saying it could compromise the friendship he has built up with these guys over the past few days. Yes, he knows if word got out, others might take advantage of him.</p><p>He knows all that, but he also trusts these wankers, trusts them to not spread the word, trusts them to not judge him.</p><p>He sighs. “Prostitution,” he mutters, heart hammering in his throat.</p><p>Vil snorts. “Shit, dude, same here.”</p><p>He frowns, pushing himself onto his elbows. “Wait, really?”</p><p>He nods. “Second time in jail for it.” He shrugs. “Fucking whatever, dude, it’s not gonna stop this guy.”</p><p>Jaskier feels his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, an incredulous laugh escaping his lips. He frowns at Istredd. “What about you?”</p><p>His cellmate shrugs, eyes plastered to his book. “Arson. Burned down some guys house cause he was being an asshole. The fucking idiot was home as well, accidentally killed him.” He shrugs again. “Just my luck.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks, then turns to Yarpen. “And you?”</p><p>“Stabbed a guy during a pub brawl. Had the nerve to actually die as well, the fucker.”</p><p>He looks at Mousesack. “I’m almost too scared to ask, but what about you?”</p><p>The older man smiles at him, laughter lines at the corners of his kind eyes. “Sent bomb packages to the guys at BP after Deepwater Horizon. No one messes with nature and gets away with it. Not on my watch.”</p><p>He lays down again, head on Vil’s thighs, mouth slightly agape in shock as he looks up at the sky, at the dark clouds that are starting to gather above them – it’s gonna rain soon. “You guys are fucking weirdos.”</p><p>The others nod in agreement.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry it took a while to update lmao, but in my defense, Play With Fire put me off writing smut for a few weeks (and will probably continue to do so for a while, that fic was a bloody nightmare). I still have one more chapter of this before I run out of pre-written stuff, so don't worry just yet.</p>
<p>Uhh. Big smut warning. Icky and non-icky stuff so proceed with caution, I guess. Yeah.</p>
<p>As always, thank you for reading, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Monday, he gets a job in the kitchen – the morning shift, meaning he has to be there at 4 AM, and work until noon. It’s not the greatest of jobs, but it pays fairly well – four dollars per shift, and it’s always better than nothing. It <em>does</em> mean he can no longer have breakfast with the other guys, but they can still have lunch and dinner together – which, again, is better than nothing.</p>
<p>Vil asks him to find out if there’s any way to get some spices or salt in the food – Jaskier doubts it.</p>
<p>He spends the rest of his day in the library, picking out a few books, definitely not looking for a certain White Wolf between the shelves. Of course, he is not disappointed when he doesn’t see the guy<em>. Absolutely not.</em></p>
<p>Dinner comes and goes, and he goes to bed early, since he has to get up at 3:30, and he doesn’t function well if he hasn’t gotten at least a few hours of deep sleep. Of course, he’s used to working during the night – he’s a sex worker after all. <em>Was</em> a sex worker.</p>
<p>For now, he’s a prisoner and a kitchen help. Still better than nothing, though.</p>
<p>He places the little alarm clock the staff gave him on his nightstand, sending out a quiet apology for Istredd when he sets it for 3:30 AM.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>His alarm rings sooner than he cares for, and he groans softly as he smashes the button, turning it off. He hears a muttered “fuck you, dude” from the bed next to his as he pulls on his clothes.</p>
<p>“Sorry, man,” he whispers back, before opening the door, slipping into the hallway as quietly as possible. He starts walking, shivering slightly in the cold air, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.</p>
<p>He’s halfway between his cell and the kitchen, when a hand grabs him by the collar, dragging him into one of the recreational rooms, slamming him against the wall. He cringes in pain, then swallows thickly as a baton is pressed against his throat, and he looks up at the guard that’s holding him in place.</p>
<p>“And what do we think we’re doing here, little man? You know you’re not allowed out at night.”</p>
<p>He blinks, then puts his hands up. “I- I work in the kitchen, my shift starts at 4.”</p>
<p>The guard narrows his beady eyes at him. “Really? Show me your hall pass, and I might believe you.”</p>
<p>His hands start shaking slightly, fear coiling in his stomach. “I- I don’t have one, they didn’t mention I needed a hall pass at the office, maybe they’re giving me one tomorrow but-“</p>
<p>“Shut it, inmate!” The baton presses against his throat harder, and stars dance in front of his eyes. “You really think I’m just gonna let you off the hook because of some lazy excuse?”</p>
<p>He wheezes. “I…” It’s getting harder to breathe, harder to focus. “It’s the truth.”</p>
<p>The guard takes a step back, the pressure suddenly relieved off Jaskier’s throat, and he falls onto his knees, clutching at his neck, taking in gasping breath after gasping breath.</p>
<p>He looks up at the guard, who has his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed at Jaskier. “Right. I’m gonna have you thrown in solitary for this, buddy.”</p>
<p>“No! Please, not solitary, I just got here, I didn’t know I needed a hall pass.” He’s heard a few horror stories about solitary from the other guys, heard about the loneliness and the hunger and the numbness creeping up on your mind, heard about people going insane in there – he does <em>not </em>want to end up in solitary.</p>
<p>He swallows thickly, an idea presenting himself to his mind. “Please don’t put me in solitary.” He licks his lips, looking up at the guard through his lashes as he relaxes his shoulders. “I’ll do anything.”</p>
<p>The guard bends down, taking Jaskier’s chin in his hand forcefully, eyes narrowed. His breath smells like mint, he notices. “Anything?” The man’s voice is low and deep, just as he’d expected.</p>
<p>He lets his tongue dart out again, wetting his lips, seeing the guard’s eyes follow the movement. “Anything,” he whispers. He feels a wave of triumph wash over him when his eyes move down slightly and notice a growing bulge in the guard’s pants.</p>
<p>He doesn’t show it, though, looks back into the man’s eyes, tries to keep his face as still and innocent and pleading as possible – guys like this enjoy the power, the ability to dominate, he knows, so he can’t show how confident he is, can’t show he knows exactly what effect his actions have.</p>
<p>“Just please don’t put me in solitary,” he whispers.</p>
<p>The guard grins, standing up straight again, grabbing a fistful of Jaskier’s hair, tipping his head back as he steps closer to where Jaskier’s sitting on his knees. He undoes the buckle of his belt and his zipper with his other hand. “Let me come down your pretty little throat and I’ll consider letting you off the hook.”</p>
<p>Jaskier nods, wetting his lips again as the guard pulls out his half-hard cock, giving it a few experimental strokes before putting it in front of Jaskier’s mouth.</p>
<p>He obliges, leaving his hands resting on his own thighs as takes the guard’s cock in his mouth, all the way down to the base – which is, funny enough, not that much. Though he doesn’t let his amusement at the guard’s mediocre length – especially compared to the guy’s ego – show. He simply swallows around him, humming something noncommittal that could be a moan, under better circumstances, before he moves his head back, letting his tongue swirl around the tip before taking the cock down to the base again.</p>
<p>The guard chokes out a quiet moan, his hand tightening painfully in Jaskier’s hair – though it’s nothing he’s never experienced before – as he fucks himself into Jaskier’s mouth. “God,” he groans, “such a good, little slut. That’s it, that’s it. <em>Fuck.</em>”</p>
<p>Jaskier keeps looking up, keeps his eyes wide and pleading, just the way he knows this guy likes it, and sure enough, the second the guard makes eye contact with Jaskier, the cock in his mouth twitches as he groans again.</p>
<p>He knows the guard is about to come when he pushes Jaskier’s head all the way down, his nose hitting the skin of his pelvis. “God, yes, fuckin’ choke on it, you little slut.”</p>
<p>Except he can’t, because he hasn’t had a gag reflex in years, and even if he did, the below-average length isn’t even close to the back of his throat. He can’t stop his amusement, and he snorts – which apparently sounds like he <em>is </em>choking well enough, as the guard comes down his throat with a strangled <em>“ah, fuck”.</em></p>
<p>He waits a couple of seconds, until the cock starts to soften on his tongue, until the fingers disentangle from his hair, before he pulls back, letting go with a slick <em>pop. </em>He looks up as the guard gathers himself, tucks himself back into his pants, buckling his belt again.</p>
<p>The guy looks down on him one last time, before walking away. “You may go, inmate.”</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs, rolling his eyes as he wipes his own spit off his chin. He gets up, brushing the dirt off his knees, before he walks into the hall, making his way to the kitchen again. He looks at the clock in the dining room as he enters – he still has five minutes left before his shift starts, luckily, and he quietly blesses past him for getting up way too early.</p>
<p>He stops in front of the door to the kitchen, checking himself one last time, making sure that his clothes aren’t too dirty, that his hair isn’t too messy, that it isn’t too obvious he just had to suck a guard’s dick to make sure he didn’t end up in solitary.</p>
<p>He reminds himself to ask about a hall pass later that day, as he opens the door, entering the kitchen.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He sits down at the lunch table heavily, slamming his tray down. “No, there aren’t any spices or salt,” he says before Vil can ask. His friend slumps in his chair, letting out a disappointed sound.</p>
<p>“How was your first shift, dude?” Istredd asks, and Jaskier shrugs, stirring his yoghurt slightly.</p>
<p>“Wasn’t great, but wasn’t too bad, either. Definitely had worse.”</p>
<p>Mousesack sits down opposite him, frowning at him, grey eyes losing their kindness as they travel down to Jaskier’s throat. “What happened?”</p>
<p>He sighs, then shrugs, tentatively running his fingers across the bruise the baton left on his skin. “Ran into a guard this morning and I didn’t have my hall pass yet.”</p>
<p>Vil hisses softly. “Yikes. And he just let you go, after?”</p>
<p>Jaskier purses his lips. “Well, not… exactly.”</p>
<p>“Ah, I see,” Vil says, “you had to suck his dick. Muscled guy, brown hair, crew cut, disappointing cock?”</p>
<p>Jaskier frowns. “Yeah, that’s the one.”</p>
<p>The rest of the guys nod in understanding. “That’s Johnson, he has a bit of a superiority complex that does <em>not</em> fit his unimpressive size,” Istredd says.</p>
<p>Jaskier gapes at him. “You too?”</p>
<p>His cellmate shakes his head. “Nah, but I’ve heard the stories. Real asshole, that guy.”</p>
<p>He snorts, taking a bite of his yoghurt. “Yeah, you can say that. Hey, is it illegal to take a nap here? Cause I’m kinda tired and I don’t think I’m gonna make it to dinner like this.”</p>
<p>Mousesack shrugs. “Should be fine, as long as they know you have the 4 AM shift, really.”</p>
<p>“Cool, thanks.” He looks around the table. “Hey, quick question, where’s Yarpen?”</p>
<p>Istredd snorts, Vil laughing into his bread. “Probably in one of the last two showers in the east wing.”</p>
<p>Jaskier frowns. “What’s in the last two showers in the east wing?”</p>
<p>Istredd and Vil burst out in a fit of giggles, like a bunch of children, nudging each other’s shoulder. Mousesack rolls his eyes. “A glory hole.”</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks. “Oh. Okay.”</p>
<p>The older man shrugs. “Can’t blame the younger guys, it does get quite boring in here.”</p>
<p>Jaskier frowns. “Right. Well, now I know to stay away from that place, then.”</p>
<p>Istredd nudges him. “Come on, dude, are you seriously gonna spend all your time here <em>not </em>having any fun?”</p>
<p>He snorts, shaking his head. “I’m good, thanks.” He suddenly gets the feeling he’s being stared at, and looks past Mousesack, meeting amber eyes.</p>
<p>He smiles, raising his hand to wave at the White Wolf, who immediately looks away again.</p>
<p>Istredd slaps his arm. “Dude, seriously, stop waving at the serial killer.”</p>
<p>Jaskier frowns at him. “Who says he’s a serial killer? Besides,” he leans his chin on his hand, “he doesn’t seem half bad.”</p>
<p>“Are you saying that because he hasn’t threatened to kill you yet, or because you think he’s hot?”</p>
<p>Jaskier rolls his eyes. “First of all, I don’t think he’s hot.” He ignores the muttered ‘<em>liar’ </em>Istredd sends his way. “And secondly, I don’t think he’s gonna threaten to kill me. He doesn’t seem like that kinda guy.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah, because you know him <em>so </em>well.”</p>
<p>He thinks for a second about how to best spite Istredd, as he narrows his eyes at his friend. “Alright, then.”</p>
<p>He stands up, taking his tray with him, ignoring Istredd’s half-shouts of <em>‘wait, where are you going? Jaskier, where are you going?’</em> behind him, as he walks to the White Wolf’s table.</p>
<p>He returns the glare the guy gives him with the brightest smile he can muster, as he sits down at the table. “Hi! I’m Jaskier, remember, we met in the library, and I waved at you a few times?” He extends his hand over the table, though he knows trying to shake someone’s hand is a bad idea in this place.</p>
<p>The White Wolf stays silent, glaring at him.</p>
<p>Jaskier shrugs the uneasiness off his shoulders, retrieving his hand, before he stirs the yoghurt in his cup a little bit. “God, I love yoghurt. Are you a fan of yoghurt?” Amber eyes stare at him unblinkingly. “Yeah, no, didn’t think so, you don’t seem like a yoghurt kinda guy. But then again, you also don’t seem like a book kinda guy either, but you <em>were </em>in the library the other day? Are you there often?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, knows he won’t get one. “I assume so, I mean, I don’t really see you anywhere else, except a few days ago in the field. Anyways, I read that book you were holding then, <em>‘the Picture of Dorian Gray’. </em>Do gotta say, it’s an interesting read, though not really what I was expecting – didn’t even think they’d allow a book with that much crime in a <em>prison library </em>of all places, but hey, I’m not complaining-“</p>
<p>He keeps rambling out his every thought, only interrupting himself once or twice to eat some yoghurt, as the White Wolf keeps staring at him. He’s a good talker, has always been, though he got the chance to refine the art of rambling through awkward silences during his years as a sex worker – after all, some clients, mostly elderly people, just prefer someone to talk to, someone to listen to them and to tell them things they don’t know already. Loneliness can eat away at a person, if they’re all alone, so yeah, some people are willing to pay just for a little chat – of course, Jaskier never complains. He enjoys stories, enjoys hearing them and enjoys telling them, and it’s a break from the monotone nights where every single client just wants to fuck.</p>
<p>Sometimes fucking just gets a bit boring.</p>
<p>So, he rambles on and on, slowly eating his lunch, as the White Wolf continues to stare at him and he feels his friends’ eyes staring daggers into his back.</p>
<p>He starts noticing that more and more people are leaving, the room growing empty ever so slowly – lunch will be over soon.</p>
<p>He clears his throat, his tongue dry against the roof of his mouth from all the talking. “Anyways. What’s your name? I didn’t catch it when we first met.”</p>
<p>The White Wolf stays silent, glaring at him still. Jaskier suppresses a yawn. “I should probably take a nap, soon, I had to get up early this morning, so I’m kinda tired, as you can imagine.” He stands up, taking his tray. “Anyways, this has been fun. See you later, maybe?”</p>
<p>And lo and behold, he gets his first ever response. “Hmm.” Or, well, something similar to a response, at least.</p>
<p>He smiles broadly, feeling the light of triumph in his chest. “I assume that’s a <em>‘yes’, </em>my Wolf. See you later, then.”</p>
<p>He walks away, dumping his tray on the tray collector. He risks one glance over his shoulder at the door, first seeing his friends, staring at him in disbelief, then the White Wolf, amber eyes looking right back at him. He gives one last wave, before continuing to his cell.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He’s barely asleep when Istredd enters the cell, turning the light on, flopping down on his own bed. “Dude, you’re fucking insane. He’s definitely gonna kill you at some point.”</p>
<p>He slings an arm over his eyes to block out the light. “Doubt it,” he mumbles, still half-asleep, “he actually answered and shit. I don’t think people who plan to kill you answer.”</p>
<p>He can practically <em>hear </em>Istredd frown. “What’d he say, then?”</p>
<p>“Hmm.”</p>
<p>It’s silent for a couple of seconds. “Dude, are you awake? What’d he say?”</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs, turning onto his stomach. “He said ‘hmm’,” he says into his pillow.</p>
<p>Another few heartbeats of silence. “<em>That’s it? </em>He said ‘hmm’? Oh my god, dude, you’re absolutely right, you’ve done it, you’ve befriended the big, bad wolf. You’re a genius and king of the prison, now.”</p>
<p>Jaskier flips him off. “Let me sleep, I’m tired.”</p>
<p>He hears Istredd sigh. “Whatever, dude, I’m telling you, it’s not gonna work. You’re not gonna be able to befriend the guy, trust me, we’ve tried.”</p>
<p>“And did he try to kill<em> you?”</em></p>
<p>It’s silent for a few seconds. “Well… no, but still. Dude’s terrifying. Just… be careful, Jask.”</p>
<p>He smiles into his pillow, sleep slowly overtaking him again. “I will.”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He gets a hall pass from the office right before dinner, and he sighs in relief, as he puts it in his pocket – hopefully Johnson won’t bother him again.</p>
<p>He fails to hide his disappointment when he doesn’t see the White Wolf at dinner that night, and Yarpen slaps him on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m sure yer boyfriend’s alright, lad.”</p>
<p>Jaskier rolls his eyes, stabbing a vegetable with his fork. “He’s not my boyfriend.”</p>
<p>The others don’t say anything.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>It continues like that for a week or so – getting up at 3:30, eating lunch with the White Wolf, who only stares at him, never replying to anything he says as he continues rambling, taking a nap in the afternoon, going to the library or the field after, eating dinner with his friends, going to sleep early.</p>
<p>As much as he hates being incarcerated, he also does enjoy the rhythm, the consistency of his days, enjoys the certainty of the roof over his head as the nights grow longer and colder.</p>
<p>He excuses himself from dinner a bit early on Tuesday evening, to go get a shower – he’s discovered that he doesn’t have to wait in line for the showers if he goes when dinner’s not yet over. He gets his stuff from his cell, padding his way over to the bathroom in the east wing.</p>
<p>As expected, the place is deserted, and he softly hums to himself as he walks to the first shower, opening the door, frowning when he sees a paper under the shower head. <em>Out of order.</em></p>
<p>He shrugs, entering the next stall – the middle one of the three showers – locking the door behind him. He hangs the towel and his clothes over the door, keeping his slippers on to avoid toe fungus, before he turns the shower on.</p>
<p>The water is freezing cold, the soap is unscented, the shampoo smells like dish soap – but he doesn’t care. He loves the solitude, the quietness, here, the chance to finally have some alone time in a place where he feels like he’s constantly being watched – whether it’s by the cameras, the guards, or the other inmates, ready to snitch on anyone who does something even remotely prohibited, to get some favours in return.</p>
<p>At least he gets the chance to be alone here, to just be himself, as he hums softly, rubbing the shampoo-that’s-probably-dish-soap into his hair.</p>
<p>Halfway through his shower, someone else enters the bathroom, taking the stall next to him, the last of the three showers in this wing, and he stops humming.</p>
<p>He finishes his shower pretty quickly after that, turning the water off, grabbing the towel off the door. He cringes slightly at the rough texture against his skin, but dries himself off as fast as possible – he doesn’t feel like accidentally running into the guy in the stall next to him outside, since he also just turned his shower off.</p>
<p>He startles slightly at two soft taps against the wood that separates the two stalls. He frowns, until his eye falls on something – a hole, drilled in the wood, about waist-high. <em>Well shit. </em>He’d forgotten about the glory hole.</p>
<p>Which means the guy on the other side is probably hoping to get sucked off. He sighs softly. He could just get his clothes on as quickly as possible and get out of here, take a shower in the west wing for as long as the first one in this bathroom is out of order. He could just <em>not </em>do it.</p>
<p>But he’d also feel a bit guilty if he did walk away. After all, this guy is probably hoping to get off tonight – and, truth be told, he <em>is </em>quite polite about it. Most guys would’ve just shoved their dick through the hole, without asking for permission first. And, of course, Jaskier is used to it – one dick more or less isn’t gonna faze him, not in the slightest.</p>
<p>There’s another two taps on the wooden wall, and he shrugs, sitting down on his knees in front of the hole, tapping the wall twice as well.</p>
<p>In all his years of experience, he’s rarely ever seen a cock as big as the one that’s shoved into his face right now – if ever, really. It’s not only thick enough so that it barely fits through the hole in the wall, but it’s also quite long, with a nice, soft curve upwards. He tries not to think about the fact that the head would hit his prostate just the right way if he were to fuck himself on this cock, as he licks a long stripe along the underside, from the base to the tip.</p>
<p>Whoever’s on the other side of the wall groans softly as he takes the head into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks hard, leaning one hand against the wood as his other works the shaft in slow strokes. He pulls off with a loud and satisfying <em>pop, </em>before taking the cock all the way down.</p>
<p>And for the first time in years, as the head hits the back of his throat, his gag reflex is triggered. He gags slightly, now leaning both hands against the wall. He rests there for a second, nose against the wood, taking deep, steady breaths, letting his throat get accustomed to the impressive size.</p>
<p>Eventually, he moves back again, hollowing his cheeks and swirling his tongue around the tip before he takes it all the way down again. He bobs his head with slow, deliberate movements, letting his own spit run down his chin – sucking sloppily, messily, hungrily, drinking in every little groan and grunt coming from the other side of the wall.</p>
<p>It’s been a while since he enjoyed sucking a dick – sure, it’s not bad, but it’s not something that gets him off, really. Yet he can’t deny the fact that his own cock is rock-hard, laying against his stomach as he works the man on the other side of the wall towards his orgasm.</p>
<p>He closes a hand around his own cock, moving in sync with his mouth. He moans softly, sighing in quiet satisfaction as the guy on the other side of the wall groans at the sensation.</p>
<p>Soon enough – too soon for his own liking, quite frankly – he hears a ragged moan ringing through the bathroom, feels the cock in his mouth twitch. One last time, he takes it all the way down, swallowing around it, his hand tightening around his own cock, before the other man comes with a strangled “<em>Jaskier”.</em></p>
<p>He freezes in place, eyes wide as he feels come sliding down his throat. He swallows it, but more out of habit than anything, as his breathing grows shallow, nose still pressed against the wood, his own high dying out in his veins. Did the other guy know it was him? How did he even know? It’s someone Jaskier clearly hasn’t met yet, since he doesn’t recognize the voice – and truly, he would’ve remembered it. It’s not exactly a voice he’d easily forget, deep and raspy, sending pleasant shivers down his spine despite his growing panic.</p>
<p>He barely registers the quiet sigh on the other side of the wall, barely registers the softening cock sliding out of his mouth. He does fully register the two soft taps against the wood, and he realizes whoever it is on the other side – he’s offering to return the favour.</p>
<p>Jaskier swallows thickly, panic washing over him as he takes his clothes, hastily pulling them on, wiping the spit off his chin and neck, before he gets out of the bathroom, practically fleeing back to his cell, as a growing chorus of ‘<em>what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck’ </em>rings through his head.</p>
<p>Luckily, Istredd isn’t there yet, and he lets himself fall on the bed, hiding his face behind his hands, blushing furiously. “What the <em>fuck,” </em>he whispers to himself. “<em>What the fuck?”</em></p>
<p>No matter how he searches his memory, he has absolutely no idea who the voice belonged to – though he would <em>very much </em>like to know. Because whoever it was, he either knew Jaskier was on the other side of the wall, or-</p>
<p>He swallows thickly again, removing his hands from his face, staring at the ceiling. <em>Or he was thinking about me anyways, while-</em></p>
<p>He shakes his head, rolling onto his side, facing the wall. Yeah, no way. He knows the sound of the voice of every person who knows his name, here. <em>So who the hell was it?</em></p>
<p>He sifts through his mind, the memory of the strangled and deep <em>‘Jaskier’ </em>playing in his head over and over again, trying to find who it could be.</p>
<p>It’s only after a few moments that he realizes he’s palming his own cock through his thin pants, bucking his hips slightly, breaths shallow and quick. He’s still incredibly hard, pleasure shooting up his spine as he remembers the feeling of the massive cock in his mouth, the sound of that deep voice saying his name in his ears – no matter how shaken he is, no matter how much it kinda freaks him out, he still can’t help but replay the memory over and over again, as he fucks himself against his hand.</p>
<p>He has half a mind to grab the towel from next to him, pushing it down his pants before he comes with a strangled groan, his hips stuttering in their previously so steady rhythm. He bites into the pillow, rutting himself through the aftershocks of his orgasm, as he sighs deeply.</p>
<p>He allows himself a few seconds of rest, before he extracts the towel from his pants, throwing it in the laundry basket. He pulls on his pyjamas, setting his alarm for 3:30 the next morning, before he brushes his teeth, getting back into the bed.</p>
<p>When Istredd slips into bed as well, half an hour later, Jaskier pretends he’s asleep. He doesn’t want to talk, not right now, at least, not when his thoughts are filled with that perfect cock in his mouth, with that deep, gravelly voice in his ears.</p>
<p>He doesn’t sleep at all that night, for that matter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Huh??? Who could it be??? </p>
<p>Also I'm on tumblr @queen-squish!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So uh... I've been having a bit of a writer's block, lately. Send help.</p>
<p>Nothing particular in this chapter that needs warnings, just some revelations and feels and whatnot.</p>
<p>As always, thank you for reading, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He sits down heavily at the table, the White Wolf once again simply staring at him. He yawns, rubbing his eyes before resting his forehead against the table. “God, I’m tired.”</p>
<p>It’s quiet, once again, and he rolls his head to the side, looking up at the White Wolf from the corner of his eye. White eyebrows are pulled up – a question. ‘<em>Why?’ </em>probably.</p>
<p>“Slept like shit last night.” The White Wolf cocks his head. Again a question. He sighs, pressing his nose against the plastic again. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.”</p>
<p>He smiles. “Yeah, I know, right? Me, not wanting to talk about something for once? Can hardly believe it, myself.”</p>
<p>He pushes himself up again, resting his chin on his hands, elbows on the table. “And how are you today? You seem a bit happier than usual.”</p>
<p>A mock-glare thrown in his direction. “Oh, please, you don’t need to pretend, my Wolf. I know you by now, I know you’re happy – or at the very least content.”</p>
<p>The corners of his mouth pull up slightly. “Hmm.”</p>
<p>“Come on, what happened? What’s got you so cheery?”</p>
<p>The White Wolf shakes his head a bit.</p>
<p>“Alright, then, keep your secrets.” It’s quiet for a few seconds, and he lays one hand on the table, still leaning his chin on the other. “You know, I still don’t know your name, my Wolf. Is it Jared? James? Ben? Nah, you don’t look like a Ben. Grant? Peter? No, maybe-“</p>
<p>“Geralt.”</p>
<p>He blinks, lifting his head from his hand. “Wait, what?”</p>
<p>“My name. Geralt.”</p>
<p>He leans back in his seat. “Huh. Nice to meet you, Geralt. Also you can speak? I kinda assumed you were mute and I was trying not to say anything about it and be rude, but-“</p>
<p>The White Wolf- <em>Geralt </em>glares at him, and he snaps his mouth shut.</p>
<p>It’s quiet for another few seconds. “I’m gonna keep calling you my Wolf, if you don’t mind.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.”</p>
<p>“I assume that’s a ‘<em>no, I don’t mind at all, I actually love being your Wolf’.”</em></p>
<p>Geralt cocks his head again, sighing, a bit exasperated. “<em>Jaskier.”</em></p>
<p>His smile falls, as he suddenly recognizes that voice – from last night, in the showers. Which means-</p>
<p><em>Oh. Oh no, oh no no no no no, not gonna butter </em>that <em>biscuit.</em></p>
<p>He swallows thickly, feels heat rise up his cheeks, hands clenching around his tray. “Excuse me, I gotta go.” Geralt frowns at him. “Stomach-ache,” he lies, before briskly walking away, shoulders pulled up to his ears as he dumps his tray on the collector, making his way to his cell.</p>
<p>He lets himself drop onto his bed, curling onto his side, face in his hands. Oh, God, this isn’t real, this can’t be happening – he did <em>not </em>suck the White Wolf’s dick and hear him call his name, less than a day ago, <em>no no no sir, absolutely not.</em></p>
<p>Because the fact that Geralt was acting basically normal today, would very much indicate that he didn’t know Jaskier was on the other side of the wall, which very, very much implies that he said Jaskier’s name when he came just for the sake of saying his name, and Jaskier doesn’t even want to <em>begin </em>to try and find out what sort of implications <em>that </em>holds.</p>
<p>There’s a small knock on the door, then Geralt’s voice. “Jaskier?” And, oh God, it should not remind him of last night, it should not send shivers down his spine, it should not send waves of heat over his skin, and he should definitely <em>not be remembering how good Geralt had tasted, goddammit.</em></p>
<p>He hears the door open, then close again, and Jaskier feels the bed dip behind him, then a strong hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”</p>
<p><em>God fucking dammit, when did he become so nice? </em>Yesterday, Geralt hadn’t even said a single word to him, had communicated only using glares and hums and eyerolls, and now he’s sitting on the side of his bed, worried about him because he thinks Jaskier’s sick. <em>When the fuck did that happen?</em></p>
<p>He shakes his head, face still buried in his hands, still curled up on his side, facing the wall.</p>
<p>“Anything I can do?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head again, then, he slowly turns around, looking up at Geralt, who tentatively reaches out, touching his furiously blushing cheek. “You’re burning up.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Jaskier whispers, eyes drifting close. He’s tired, so incredibly tired.</p>
<p>He opens his eyes again when Geralt speaks up. “Do you want me to get the doctor?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head once again, softly taking his Wolf’s hand from where it’s still laying against his cheek, bringing their intertwined fingers to his chest. “Why are you here, Geralt?”</p>
<p>His Wolf frowns. “Assault of a police officer.”</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks. “I- that’s not what I meant, but we’re so gonna discuss that later.” He sighs, energy suddenly leaving him again. “I mean, why are you <em>here? </em>With me?”</p>
<p>Geralt frowns again. “I’m worried.”</p>
<p>Jaskier feels himself smile involuntarily, his eyes drifting shut again. “You’re worried about me.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” He can’t see his Wolf’s face anymore, the deep, melodious voice seeming to come from far away as he quickly slips into unconsciousness, his lack of sleep catching up to him.</p>
<p>Right before he completely falls asleep, he feels something on his right temple, a light, fluttering pressure. He decides it can’t possibly be a kiss. Absolutely not.</p>
<p>
  <em>No sir.</em>
</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He wakes up late in the evening, rubbing his eyes as he sits up. He looks on his little alarm clock – 7 in the evening. <em>Fucking brilliant. </em>He missed dinner.</p>
<p>Strangely enough, his Wolf is still sitting on the side of his bed, amber eyes trained on him, brow furrowed in concentration as he searches Jaskier’s face. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>Jaskier shrugs, sitting back against the wall. “Pretty good, actually. Just needed some sleep, I guess. What about you, though, why are you still here?”</p>
<p>Geralt looks at him as if he’s just asked the stupidest question in the world – a look Jaskier’s familiar with, by now. “Because I was worried.”</p>
<p>Jaskier shrugs. “I’m fine. Look for yourself, everything okidoki.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.”</p>
<p>He leans his head back against the wall. “So… assault of a police officer, huh?”</p>
<p>Geralt looks away, doesn’t answer.</p>
<p>“What happened?”</p>
<p>His Wolf shrugs, still not meeting his eyes. “Punched a cop.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>Again, no answer, and Jaskier sighs, taking Geralt’s hand from where it’s laying on the blanket, softly running his thumb across the back. “I understand if you don’t wanna talk about it, but know that I would never judge you, my Wolf.”</p>
<p>Geralt sighs, looking at their intertwined hands, before looking away again. “There was this old, homeless lady who sat at the corner of my apartment building every day. Every morning, she would arrive with her shopping cart with her belongings, and she would leave again every night. I helped her cross the street a couple of times, tried to give her either money or food every day. She was very nice.” He clenches his jaw, his hand tightening in Jaskier’s. “One day, cops tried to arrest her for loitering- basically for being homeless. I told them to knock it off and leave her alone, they didn’t, threatened to arrest me as well. I said I’d give them a reason to arrest me.”</p>
<p>“So then you punched a cop,” Jaskier fills in for him, smiling softly.</p>
<p>Geralt’s still looking away. “Hmm.”</p>
<p>Jaskier threads his fingers through Geralt’s, laughing lightly. “Trust me, I’m not judging. Plenty of times that I’ve wanted to punch a cop, myself.”</p>
<p>Finally, his Wolf looks at him, eyes bright with something Jaskier can’t quite place, but makes a shiver run down his spine. “Do you want to…”</p>
<p>“Tell you why I’m here?” Geralt nods, and Jaskier sighs. “Well…” He plays with Geralt’s fingers a bit, softly running his fingertips over calloused skin. “I- hmm.” He swallows thickly, studying his Wolf’s face intently, trying to see any minute changes, any sort of disgust or aversion or anything negative, as he chokes out the word: “Prostitution.”</p>
<p>His Wolf doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at their intertwined hands. Then: “Hmm.”</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles incredulously. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say to that?”</p>
<p>Geralt shrugs. “Not judging. Honestly thought you murdered someone.”</p>
<p>Jaskier gapes at him. “I- you… Wait. You honestly thought I could kill someone – <em>would </em>kill someone?”</p>
<p>“Hmm.”</p>
<p>He laughs. “Fair enough.”</p>
<p>The door opens, and Istredd walks in, plate in hand. He and Geralt exchange an acknowledging glance, and Jaskier gets the feeling they may or may not have made acquaintance in the hours that he was asleep. Though, as Istredd puts the plate with bread on his nightstand, he can’t bring himself to complain. “How you feeling?”</p>
<p>He takes a slice, biting into it, his stomach praising the heavens above as it growls loudly for more. “Great. Thanks, man.”</p>
<p>Istredd shrugs, sitting down on his own bed. “Don’t thank me – Vil had to give someone in the kitchen a handjob for this.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” Jaskier frowns. “I’ll thank him tomorrow, then.”</p>
<p>“It’s getting late,” Geralt mutters, as he stands up. “I should get going.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you don’t want the guards to catch you outside past 8,” Istredd replies, giving Geralt a friendly wave as he makes his way to the door.</p>
<p>He turns around one last time in the doorway, giving Jaskier a hesitant smile, before he closes the door behind him.</p>
<p>Istredd looks at him, eyebrows pulled up. “So… You actually did it, you absolute madman, you befriended the White Wolf.”</p>
<p>Jaskier shrugs. “Wasn’t hard, he’s very nice.”</p>
<p>His friend snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re the only one who’s been around him long enough to find out. Anyways, you sure you’re good? Cause you kinda ran off at lunch-“</p>
<p>“No, don’t worry, I’m fine. I just- it was- I…” He can feel heat rising up his neck at the memories, at the discovery he had made. “Just a stomach-ache.”</p>
<p>Istredd doesn’t look convinced, but gets up anyways. “Aight, you get your rest, I’ll tell the office you can’t make it to your shift.”</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles at him before he leaves. “Thanks, man.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, no problem,” Istredd mutters, before closing the door.</p>
<p>Jaskier eats the rest of the bread, before laying down again. He’s not tired anymore, but he also needs some time and rest – mostly to think about… well, everything. In the last day or so he’s found out three things:</p>
<p>Firstly: the White Wolf’s name is Geralt. He’s here because he punched a cop who tried to arrest a homeless lady. So, despite what everyone else says, he’s not a serial killer, he’s not a hitman, he’s not a terrible person. Quite the opposite, really – he tried to help an elderly woman, in his own, admittedly a bit backwards way.</p>
<p>Secondly: Geralt cares about him, one way or another. He stayed next to him when he thought Jaskier was sick, he outright told him he was worried, and he even talked to Istredd, presumably – which is already quite a feat, because he has a hunch Geralt doesn’t like strangers. Or talking, for that matter.</p>
<p>Thirdly: he accidentally sucked Geralt’s dick. Which wouldn’t be that crazy under different circumstances – he’s used to doing it, and, admittedly, it was fairly nice. But it’s all cast in a different light by the fact that Geralt had called Jaskier’s name when he came. He assumes Geralt didn’t know Jaskier was on the other side of the wall – judging by the fact that he didn’t mention it at lunch today – so he was most likely thinking about Jaskier when he thought he was getting sucked off by a random stranger.</p>
<p>Which, oh God, raises so many more questions. Mainly: why?</p>
<p>And the answer to that is fairly simple: because he’s attracted to Jaskier. Which does sound quite unbelievable, really, since the guy only gives him glares and non-committing hums. Well, he used to, at least.</p>
<p>Before today.</p>
<p>Now it suddenly doesn’t sound so unbelievable anymore.</p>
<p>He now realizes there’s a fourth thing he found out today as well. He may or may not be a bit in love with Geralt.</p>
<p>Yes, the guy barely talked to him before today, but it’s not like he didn’t <em>respond. </em>He did, just not conventionally – he responded with ‘hmm’s and rolling his eyes and raising his eyebrows, he responded with non-verbal things that still showed that he <em>cared. </em>Still, now that it turns out Geralt <em>can </em>talk, Jaskier can’t wait to hear anything and everything he has to say, can’t wait to truly get to know him, can’t wait to find out who he really is.</p>
<p>He feels his eyes drifting close again, surprisingly, despite the fact that he already slept several hours. He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t push away the sleep and the heaviness that pulls at his limbs – after all, it will be the next day when he wakes up. A new chance to get to know his Wolf, really, truly.</p>
<p>He barely registers Istredd coming into the cell, barely registers his friend tucking him in, before he falls asleep.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>They fall into a new rhythm, after that, when Jaskier softly takes Geralt’s hand at lunch, guiding him to the table with the other guys, who make room for him, accepting him as one of their own right away.</p>
<p>Geralt is as not-talkative as usually, but adapts to the dynamic pretty well, though he seems to prefer to stick by Jaskier’s side if they split up for the afternoon – following him to the library, to the field, or to his room to sit at the foot of his bed as he takes a nap.</p>
<p>And Jaskier finally gets the chance to get to know Geralt.</p>
<p>He finds out his Wolf doesn’t have a cellmate because he doesn’t need to sleep a lot and it drives whoever sleeps in the same room as him insane. Which, of course, Jaskier doesn’t blame them for – even <em>thinking </em>about someone staying up all night, staring at him, gives him the heebie-jeebies. But also, of course, when he thinks about <em>Geralt </em>doing it, he feels heat rising to his cheeks and to lower, more inconvenient places. So he tries not to think about it. And fails miserably whenever he takes a nap in the afternoon and feels his Wolf’s eyes on him the entire time.</p>
<p>He finds out Geralt used to be a businessman before he went to jail – nothing special, really, just an accountant that got quite an inheritance when his father died. Of course, now that he’s been arrested, he’s never gonna find a job after this. Jaskier wishes he could help, he really does – but he can barely provide for himself, so he figures his advice probably wouldn’t be the best, anyways.</p>
<p>He finds out Geralt loves animals. He finds out Geralt doesn’t like talking a lot. He also finds out that Geralt likes to hear him talk – not directly of course, his Wolf would probably never tell him outright, but he can feel amber eyes glued to him when he talks, and he finds out Geralt really is listening, as his Wolf recalls that Jaskier’s favourite colour is yellow.</p>
<p>He finds out, one day in the field, that Geralt likes having his hair played with, though he would never say it. He finds out, the next day in the library, that if Geralt is surprise hugged from behind, he will elbow that person in the nose.</p>
<p>He also finds out Geralt will profusely apologize for doing so. He also finds out his Wolf will accompany him to the nurse’s station, will stay by his side, fussing over him all day, and make sad faces for the rest of the weekend, even if it’s just a bloody nose.</p>
<p>Jaskier finds out he would love it if Geralt would kiss away the pain. He also finds out he’s too cowardly to ask.</p>
<p>He finds out he’s a little bit more in love each and every day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>also I'm on tumblr @queen-squish</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yay! My little writer's block break is over! Feels good to be back, baby.</p>
<p>So, here's a uhhh Geralt POV. The next chapter will be as well. It features his side of some things and some [deleted scenes] you haven't read about yet, so get excited for that please and thank you, it really took me a long time to write this.<br/>Also, like, the entire first half (?) or so of this chapter is heavily based on the song Boys Like You by dodie because it slaps and also it fits the way Geralt thinks Jaskier sees him really well. So uhh, yeah. Enjoy!</p>
<p>Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, comments are live, laugh, love. <br/>(also I keep adding to the chapter count every time I update. Guess my prophecy from the notes on chapter 1 fulfilled itself huh)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Strangely enough, going to prison isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to Geralt. It’s the loneliness that came afterwards.</p>
<p>It wasn’t as if people avoided him like the plague the second he stepped foot in the prison, though. It happened gradually, little things adding up until, a few months after he got sent to jail, he found himself not speaking to another person for weeks on end. It wasn’t as if he wanted it to happen, either, it just <em>happened.</em></p>
<p>It started on the first day. He’s always known he can be rather intimidating to other people, with his size and muscles – but he just likes working out, it calms him down after a long, frustrating day at work. Which is the only type of day he seems to be able have. <em>Seemed </em>to be able have. No more job to frustrate him, now, though.</p>
<p>During his first meal at the prison, the other prisoners had stayed out of his way, and, unsure where to sit, he had found himself alone at a table for lunch. And for dinner. And for breakfast, the next day. In all reality, the others had intimidated him a bit, so he didn’t dare start a conversation with anyone, and had hoped someone would come talk to him, instead. Which hadn’t happened, and he sat alone every meal after that.</p>
<p>That was strike one.</p>
<p>Strike two was his cellmate. Dave, his name was. <em>Is</em>. Geralt’s not sure if Dave’s still alive, really.</p>
<p>The guy was an arsonist, and the first night Geralt spent at the prison, Dave somehow managed to set fire to the mattress in the middle of the night. Even after a week of solitary, he did it again, and this time the flames spread further, blackening the walls and ceiling of their cell before a guard managed to put it out. But after that, Geralt no longer trusted Dave, or trusted sleeping in the same cell as the guy. So he had stayed up longer the next few days, watching Dave’s back until he was sure the guy was asleep, before he went to sleep himself. Of course, that creeped Dave out, but Geralt didn’t want to be asleep if the guy set his mattress on fire again, didn’t want to end up injured or dead – collateral damage to Dave’s obsession with the flames.</p>
<p>Eventually, Dave asked for a transfer to a different cell because Geralt’s staring creeped him out too much. The guards put him with someone else and didn’t give Geralt a new cellmate after that, unfortunately. A new cellmate would give him someone he trusted enough to talk to. Or he could end up with another Dave, so maybe it is for the best, he supposes.</p>
<p>He found out that, a week after his transfer, Dave set fire to his mattress again, and both he and his cellmate were badly injured. Looks like Geralt did dodge a bullet, after all. Still, he no longer has a cellmate. He never saw Dave again.</p>
<p>Strike three was that one time he accidentally punched someone. It wasn’t his intention to do so, really, but he gets startled easily and when someone approached him from behind in the library, footsteps muffled by the carpeted floor, and tapped him on his shoulder, his first instinct was fight instead of flight. He’d punched the guy that startled him, and it had earned him a week in solitary.</p>
<p>Those three things combined made sure he was basically a social outcast in the prison, sitting alone at every meal, going back to his empty cell in the evening, roaming the halls and the prison grounds by himself the rest of the day. Eventually, he realized that it didn’t feel that different from solitary.</p>
<p>Of course, sometimes a guy comes up to him, tries to sit with him and talk to him, but he always simply glares at them, trying to will them to go away. They only ever really see him as a challenge, not a person, and, in all honesty, he’s intimidated by conversation fairly quickly. He just doesn’t have great social skills, and he knows that his boring personality will only let people down, once they get to know him. No, better to just glare at them and chase them away, rather than get his hopes up and be discarded when people get enough of him.</p>
<p>He looks up, now, as someone approaches his table again. He looks fairly young, a bit lanky, with messy brown hair and blue eyes that sparkle mischievously. He sits down across from Geralt, extending his hand, and he resists the urge to scoff. Rule number one of prison is that you never shake someone’s hand.</p>
<p>“Hi! I’m Jaskier, remember, we met in the library, and I waved at you a few times?” He <em>does</em> remember. It’s not easy to forget a face like that, especially after that person actually acknowledged your existence when you’re used to being completely ignored. Still, he knows where this is going. Jaskier is gonna try to befriend him, and give up when he doesn’t respond. He knows he’s just a challenge to this guy, knows he’s gonna get bored of Geralt sooner or later. Though something about Jaskier tells Geralt that it might be rather later than sooner.</p>
<p>He chastises himself for getting his hopes up, even if it was just for a split second.</p>
<p>The guy stirs his yoghurt in the cup on the tray he dumped on Geralt’s table when he sat down, chatting idly: “God, I love yoghurt. Are you a fan of yoghurt?” Geralt doesn’t dignify him with a response. “Yeah, no, didn’t think so, you don’t seem like a yoghurt kinda guy. But then again, you also don’t seem like a book kinda guy either, but you <em>were </em>in the library the other day? Are you there often?” This time, Jaskier doesn’t even wait for an answer. “I assume so, I mean, I don’t really see you anywhere else, except a few days ago in the field. Anyways, I read that book you were holding then, <em>‘the Picture of Dorian Gray’. </em>Do gotta say, it’s an interesting read, though not really what I was expecting – didn’t even think they’d allow a book with that much crime in a <em>prison library </em>of all places, but hey, I’m not complaining-“</p>
<p>Jaskier just keeps on rambling on and on, and after a while, Geralt finds himself tuning it out, letting it fade into the background, only half-listening, as he watches the guy. Watches his slender fingers around his spoon, watches as he keeps stirring his yoghurt, watches as he takes a bite, the plastic cutlery momentarily disappearing between those pink lips, watches as eyes the colour of the morning sky meet his, watches as Jaskier smiles at him.</p>
<p>He closes his eyes for a second, trying to shake off the tingly feeling creeping up his spine. <em>No. No</em>, he should not be genuinely curious as to what the guy has to say. <em>No</em>, he should not be admiring how pretty Jaskier is. <em>No</em>, he should not be wishing those blue eyes would be on him constantly. <em>No</em>, he should not be leaning forwards, attention caught by the strange creature in front of him. <em>No</em>, he should not be feeling all warm and fuzzy and happy that this guy is talking to him, even asking him questions, even though Geralt never responds.</p>
<p>He’s just a challenge. Just a toy. Something to be pushed around for a while before being thrown away. He knows what he looks like to Jaskier. He should not be getting his hopes up. The batting of Jaskier’s eyelashes, the clumsy jokes that could easily be mistaken for flirting, it’s all just part of the charms the guy knows he has, and he’s just using it to get his way.</p>
<p>He’s just trying to charm Geralt into speaking, into probably telling him why he’s in prison, or whatever fucking bet he made with his annoying friends that keep staring at them from across the dining room.</p>
<p>
  <em>But, fuck, if it isn’t working.</em>
</p>
<p>Suddenly, Jaskier stands up, and Geralt is pulled from his daze.</p>
<p>“Anyways, this has been fun. See you later, maybe?”</p>
<p>He’s still only half paying attention, too caught up in the way Jaskier smiles at him, in the way the fluorescents make his hair shine a bit, in the way he wants to run his hands through those brown locks. <em>They look so incredibly soft.</em></p>
<p>He blinks, realizing Jaskier is still staring at him expectantly, and he throws the first thing his mind can think of out there: “Hmm.”</p>
<p>And the broad smile Jaskier throws at him is just part of his little charade, of his resolve to charm Geralt into speaking. <em>It’s not genuine, for God’s sake. </em></p>
<p>“I assume that’s a <em>‘yes’, </em>my Wolf. See you later, then.”</p>
<p>Wolf? What the fuck kinda nickname is that? And not just ‘wolf’, but ‘<em>his </em>wolf’? Also, a nickname barely an hour after they first met? Well, that’s just excessive. Or maybe another part of Jaskier’s little ‘how to charm this guy into speaking’-plan. In which case, it’s actually damn impressive. A smart move, that leaves him with a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest. <em>Dammit. I’m just a toy to him, remember that.</em></p>
<p>But he seems to keep forgetting, that night, as he lies in his dark and empty cell, staring up at the ceiling. He keeps forgetting that it’s all just a game to Jaskier, that Geralt is just another fun, little challenge to entertain him in prison.</p>
<p>All he can remember are those pink lips and that silky-smooth voice that keeps asking him questions as though he’s genuinely interested in what Geralt might have to say. All he can remember are those impossibly blue eyes, staring at him, and the pang of disappointment he felt in his chest every time those eyes looked away.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The next day, Jaskier isn’t at breakfast, and Geralt chastises himself for being so disappointed. He has to admit, it was nice to not be alone, for once, even if his company was an annoying guy who wouldn’t shut up and only sat with him for a dare he probably made with his stupid little friends. It was nice to be seen, for once, even if he was only viewed as a challenge, a conquest to be made. It was nice to be reminded, for once, that he’s not invisible, as his mind sometimes convinces he is, after being ignored for days on end.</p>
<p>It was nice, for once.</p>
<p>But now it’s over.</p>
<p>He can’t help himself from wondering why Jaskier isn’t at breakfast at all, though – he’s not even sitting with his annoying little friends he always sits with. <em>Not that Geralt’s noticed he always sits with those wankers, of course. </em>He assumes that maybe Jaskier isn’t hungry. Or, maybe-</p>
<p>He narrows his eyes, squinting to see through the door to the kitchen. He waits a few minutes, and, well enough, suddenly a familiar, lanky figure walks past the door, hair under a hairnet, nimble hands holding a large pan with… well, whatever the fuck it is they manage to cook up in that kitchen. Geralt’s been here for months, and most of the time, he still doesn’t recognize the stuff they throw onto his plate.</p>
<p>Still, he can’t help but breathe a soft sigh of relief – Jaskier’s fine. He probably has the morning shift, so he’ll be back by lunch. Not that Geralt’s hoping Jaskier will sit at his table again, of course. Because that would be ridiculous.</p>
<p>And he’s certainly not fucking contemplating asking the warden if he can get a job at the kitchen. The morning shift, preferably.</p>
<p>Absolutely not.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He spends his morning roaming the prison again, stopping by at the library. He’s never been one for reading, but boredom managed to convert even him. Still, he’s read most of the books he wanted to read, by now, which leaves very little for him to do except hang around a bit, hoping that a guard will eventually tell him to fuck off.</p>
<p>Usually, that’s the only time during a day that someone acknowledges his existence.</p>
<p>Though, now, as he walks to lunch, he can’t help but hope. Hope that Jaskier will be back, hope that he’ll sit at Geralt’s table, hope that he’ll start talking to him again. Even if he just sees Geralt as a conquest or a challenge or a way to get some clout, it’s still nice not to be ignored.</p>
<p>So, he takes his lunch, and he sits down. He looks around the room, and realizes with a shock that Jaskier’s already sitting at his usual table with his friends, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. Not paying attention to Geralt. Not looking his way, not once.</p>
<p>He shouldn’t be disappointed, he really shouldn’t be. But he is. Which is annoying as fuck, and he reminds himself to give himself a proper lecture on not getting attached in prison when he goes to bed tonight.</p>
<p>He ducks his head, directing his full attention towards his food, shielding his face behind his hair, as he usually does. He found out the first few weeks that people will pay less attention to him when he does that – at least the guys who are trying to act tough will stop trying to pick a fight with him. He’s not sure what it is about his face that pisses those guy off so much. Maybe it’s his eyes? They’ve always been a bit… weird. He supposes it doesn’t really matter – if he hides his face, people stop bothering him, and in a few short months he’ll be out of here, luckily.</p>
<p>He looks up as a tray slams down on the table in front of him, and Jaskier sits down, face alight with a broad smile, blue eyes twinkling.</p>
<p>“Hello again! I hope you don’t mind me sitting with you again-“ Geralt really doesn’t “-but I had such a great time yesterday, I couldn’t resist. You really are great company, do you know that?” Geralt snorts. He really isn’t, and they’re both well aware.</p>
<p>Jaskier rolls his eyes playfully, still smiling. “Alright, yeah, maybe you don’t say much, but I don’t mind. I know you’re listening, though. I don’t know what it is about you that tells me you’re not only listening, but also a <em>great </em>listener, but I can tell, I really do-“ He continues rambling as he talks about his shift in the kitchen, and how the guys there aren’t that great, but, hey, at least they’re nicer than the guards, and how he now understands why the food tastes like garbage, but there’s yoghurt, so he’s content.</p>
<p>Geralt, in the meantime, has to fight to hide the smile that’s threatening to appear on his face. Sure, he’s glad that Jaskier is sitting with him again, rambling on and on about nothing and everything, even asking questions here and there, but Geralt has to remember why Jaskier’s here. It’s not for his friendship – God knows Geralt makes for a shit friend – but for his own selfish purposes. And the pursing of Jaskier’s lips, or the way his tongue darts out to lick yoghurt off his plastic spoon, or how he flutters his eyelashes and looks at Geralt with big, blue eyes, or how he bites the tip of his thumb from time to time as he thinks – they’re all just little tricks to charm Geralt into talking, to get his way. None of it is genuine, none of it is real.</p>
<p>He has to remember he’s no more than a toy to be played with and discarded. He has to remember Jaskier’s no more than a pretty face and a cunning tongue and a selfish motivation. He has to remember.</p>
<p>Yet, as Jaskier talks, he finds it harder and harder to do just that.</p>
<p>His eyes drop down a bit, noticing a dark bruise on Jaskier’s neck, and frowns. He wants to ask, but he reminds himself that talking would just give this guy what he wants. Meaning he would go back to his stupid little friends to tell them he tamed the wolf or something. Meaning he wouldn’t sit with Geralt again. Meaning Geralt would once again be alone and ignored and without blue eyes looking at him.</p>
<p><em>Stop it, you idiot, </em>he chastises himself.</p>
<p>He doesn’t need to ask, though, because Jaskier notices him looking, a nimble hand coming up to self-consciously rub at the bruise. “Ah, yes, <em>that. </em>Had a not-so-pleasant encounter with a guard yesterday. Who knew one needed a hall pass to be allowed to go out of ones cell in the middle of the night? Not me, that’s for sure.” He laughs a little awkwardly, and continues his rant on which types of yoghurts he likes best and why.</p>
<p>Geralt wants to ask him who the guard was that did this to him, wants to promise Jaskier that the man will suffer to no end for what he did, but he bites his tongue, and ignores the way his heart skips a beat when Jaskier’s knee brushes against his under the table.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>It continues like that for a week or so, Jaskier sitting with Geralt during lunch, rambling on and on about everything or nothing at all, as Geralt learns more and more about the younger man. He does notice that Jaskier rarely ever talks about his life before prison, and if he does, it’s weirdly vague, and he refuses to meet Geralt’s eyes. He supposes it’s a sensitive subject, and the first time it happened, he silently offered Jaskier his yoghurt in an effort to comfort him. Jaskier’s face had lit up like the afternoon sun, and Geralt gave him his yoghurt every lunch after that, just to see that smile again.</p>
<p>At dinner, Jaskier sits with his friends. Geralt felt jealous the first few times, even though he <em>definitely should not be feeling jealous, </em>but that feeling had waned when those impossibly blue eyes had started to drift towards him more and more often.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>On Tuesday, he goes to take a shower in the evening, after working out in the prison gym for a few hours – when he first got here, he blessed all his lucky stars that there was a gym. It always helps him clear his mind, and he likes being able to do at least part of his routine from before he went to prison. Today, however, he’s a bit later than usual, and he hears the sounds of dinner in the distance. He sighs, but supposes it doesn’t matter, really, he’s got some snacks stored in his cell.</p>
<p>There’s someone humming in the bathroom as he walks in, and though they stop abruptly when they hear his footsteps, he still has time to appreciate how nice it sounds. It reminds him of Jaskier’s voice a bit, though he knows Jaskier is at dinner with his friends right about now, so whoever is in the shower isn’t him, of course.</p>
<p>He goes into the third stall, the second one occupied by the mystery guy and the first one out of order, he overheard someone say this morning. He washes the sweat off himself quickly, the water freezing cold but refreshing. He tries not to listen to the sounds of the guy showering next to him, he really does, but he can’t help his mind straying, can’t help but imagine it <em>is </em>Jaskier next to him.</p>
<p>Can’t help but imagine Jaskier showering, the cold water sending goosebumps along his soft skin, making his nipples harden. Can’t help but imagine soap running from his brown hair, down his back and through the cleft of his ass. Can’t help but imagine what it would be like to be in the shower with him, what it would be like to press his nose against that sensitive spot under Jaskier’s ear, what it would be like to hear him stifle his soft moans in fear of getting caught.</p>
<p>His eyes snap open when his back meets the tile wall of the shower. He feels a bit faint, as if all the blood has rushed from his head, and- <em>oh no.</em></p>
<p>A glance down confirms his suspicions. He’s hard. He closes his eyes again, as he turns the shower off, mentally cursing himself for letting his mind and imagination wander. How the fuck is he going to make it back to his cell without anyone noticing this? It’s not exactly as if the prison clothes are tight enough to hide it.</p>
<p>He supposes he could maybe masturbate right here in the showers and get it over with. Not exactly his proudest moment, but it beats having to walk through the halls with an erection. He opens his eyes again, and they fall on an irregularity in the wooden wall that separates his stall from the middle one. It’s a hole, drilled about waist-high. He’d heard whispers of the glory hole during quiet afternoons in the library, but he’d never paid any mind to it – he’s not exactly keen on getting sucked off by a random stranger, but right now, in his position…</p>
<p>Well… why not?</p>
<p>The other guy turns his shower off and Geralt figures it’s now or never. He’s never done this before, so he doesn’t really know what the etiquette for this is, but he supposes it would be rude to just stick his cock through the wall unannounced. He raises his hand, hesitantly, and taps the wood twice.</p>
<p>There’s no answer for a while, and he’s almost starting to think the other guy is already gone and Geralt simply didn’t hear him leave. He tries again, just to be sure, and well enough, after a few seconds, he hears two taps back, hears the wet sound of someone’s knees hitting water-covered tiles.</p>
<p>He sighs softly, and walks towards the hole. He feels incredibly awkward taking his hard cock in his hand, and pushing it through the wall. He feels even more awkward as he simply stands there, no reaction from whoever’s on the other side.</p>
<p>He’s starting to regret every decision in his life that has led him to this very moment, when the stranger licks a long stripe along the underside of his cock, hand gripping the base firmly. He groans softly as he feels the guy sucking on the head harshly for a couple of seconds, before taking Geralt’s cock all the way down.</p>
<p>All coherent thought leaves his mind as the person on the other side of the wall starts sucking him off, wet, sloppy sounds mixing with Geralt’s own soft groans. The guy is good at this- <em>very </em>good, and Geralt fleetingly wonders if the person on the other side is an expert or something, before the swirling of a tongue around the head of his cock distracts him again.</p>
<p>He’s holding on for dear life at this point, one hand gripping the top of the wall, one hand flat against the wood, mouth slightly agape, his breath fanning against the wall hotly as his legs tremble. He has to fight not to buck his hips into the velvety heat around his cock, and he realizes with startling clarity that he won’t last long.</p>
<p>He closes his eyes, blocking out the prison bathroom around him, focusing on the person in front of him, separated by a thin sliver of wood. The guy on the other side of the wall moans softly, and once again, Geralt can’t help but imagine it’s Jaskier, can’t help but imagine looking down and seeing big, blue eyes staring up at him, plump, pink lips wrapped around his cock as he reaches down and tangles his fingers in those brown locks – he imagines they’re soft, so incredibly, silky soft. God, would Jaskier moan if Geralt tugged at his hair, or would he pull off with an overconfident smirk and chastise him for doing it, delay his orgasm to rile him up?</p>
<p>He rests his forehead against the wood, breath shallow and stuttering, as he feels himself getting closer and closer. He feels like he should warn Jaskier- <em>the other guy, </em>but the stranger already seems to know somehow, as he takes Geralt’s cock down one last time, swallowing around him.</p>
<p>Geralt can’t help himself, as he comes with a strangled “<em>Jaskier”. </em>He freezes, eyes snapping open as the aftershocks of his orgasm makes his muscles twitch slightly. The other guy pulls away, and so does Geralt, turning around to lean his back against the wall, hands balled by his sides. He prays to any god that will listen that the other guy didn’t hear him, and he unfurls one hand to tap the wall twice again. It’s been a while since he sucked a cock – not since high school – but the least he can do it offer to return the favour.</p>
<p>The other guy doesn’t take him up on his offer, and starts dressing hastily, the door to the cubicle slamming closed within a minute or so, the bathroom door following soon after as the stranger practically flees.</p>
<p>Geralt closes his eyes, slamming his head against the wall behind him, cursing himself for letting his guard down like that. Clearly the other guy heard him, judging by his way too hasty retreat, and now all Geralt can hope for is that the stranger doesn’t know Jaskier, doesn’t tell him that some weirdo is thinking about him while getting sucked off. Because Jaskier’s a smart guy, he’ll figure out that it’s Geralt soon enough, if the other guy tells him, and then what?</p>
<p>He doesn’t expect Jaskier to go blabbering around, telling everyone about it, but maybe the other guy will. Either way, Geralt definitely won’t be seeing Jaskier again at his table. He slams his head against the wall again, and again. “<em>Fucking idiot,</em>” he chastises himself. “<em>You absolute fucking fool.</em>”</p>
<p>He probably just lost his only friend in the entire world.</p>
<p>He dries himself off with one of the scratchy prison towels, before pulling his clothes on, making his way back to his empty cell. He doesn’t know when he started consider Jaskier his friend, doesn’t know when he stopped viewing the younger man as someone trying to win a bet, and started seeing him as someone he trusts. He doesn’t know how he managed to go from being annoyed by Jaskier to calling out his name while he comes in the span of about a week. He doesn’t know, he really doesn’t.</p>
<p>He lets himself fall down on his bed, looking up at the still slightly charred ceiling. The question now is: does he mind? Does he mind seeing Jaskier as a friend, even though Jaskier definitely doesn’t see him as one? (After all, how could he? Geralt hasn’t spoken a word to him.) Does he mind that his every waking thought is filled with blue eyes and brown hair and a smile so warm it sets something alight in his chest? Does he mind falling head over heels with someone who definitely does not feel the same way? Does he mind the heartbreak that’s definitely coming if Jaskier finds out about this… incident?</p>
<p>Does he mind?</p>
<p>He does. A little bit.</p>
<p>But he also knows he is unable to stop it, by now; the first time Jaskier sat at his table – <em>no, </em>the first time Jaskier even <em>looked </em>at Geralt – a tiny pebble that set a landslide into motion.</p>
<p>All he can do, now, is stand there and wait to get crushed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just reread this and I feel the need to tell y'all something: I really love yoghurt. I adore it with all my heart, and if Jaskier gets a little bit too excited over yoghurt in this fic it's because I can't contain myself. There is no backstory for his yoghurt obsession. It's all on me.</p>
<p>Also I'm on tumblr, @queen-squish !</p>
<p>Once again! Comments are the fuel for the fire of my writing and they also make me very very happy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I give up on trying to predict how many chapters this will have. I don't even know anymore. There's a heatwave. I'm tired. Let's get this show on the road.</p>
<p>Trigger warning for homophobic language and derogatory remarks! It starts at the paragraph that starts with the sentence 'A week later, they're walking to the library after lunch.' I'll have a little summary in the endnotes for those who skipped it.</p>
<p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and please do leave kudos and a comment! Thank you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s nervous as he sits down for lunch the next day. Jaskier hadn’t been at breakfast, of course, but strangely enough, Jaskier’s friends hadn’t looked at Geralt weirdly, meaning that either Jaskier doesn’t know what happened yesterday in the bathroom yet, or he does and he hasn’t told his friends.</p>
<p>Either way, Geralt’s still on edge. If Jaskier does know, then he’ll definitely confront Geralt now, or at least today. He looks up as – speak of the devil – Jaskier sits down heavily, nearly slamming his tray on the table. The younger man yawns, rubbing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the plastic. “God, I’m tired.”</p>
<p>Geralt feels his eyebrows shoot up. Wait, does this mean Jaskier <em>doesn’t </em>know yet? The younger man looks up at him, smiles softly. “Slept like shit last night,” he clarifies.</p>
<p>Geralt can’t help but cock his head, curiosity stirred. Jaskier looks away again. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”</p>
<p>That doesn’t sound too good. Geralt waits. This must be the moment, this must be when Jaskier tells him he heard about what Geralt did last night and that he hates him and that he thinks he’s disgusting and that he never wants to see him again and a million other horrible things Jaskier has every right to say to him.</p>
<p>But he doesn’t. Instead, he smiles. “Yeah, I know, right? Me, not wanting to talk about something for once? Can hardly believe it myself.”</p>
<p>Jaskier pushes himself upright, as Geralt feels the first rays of relief and hope shining through his chest. The younger man looks at him, resting his chin on his hands. “And how are you today? You seem a bit happier than usual.”</p>
<p>In all honesty, Geralt <em>does</em> feel better, because Jaskier’s not yelling at him. In fact, he even seems to have no idea as to what happened. Geralt hides the crushing sense of relief under a mock-glare, and Jaskier snorts. “Oh, please, you don’t need to pretend, my Wolf. I know you by now, I know you’re happy – or at the very least content.”</p>
<p>Geralt can’t help the soft smile that breaks through, widening a bit as Jaskier smiles back. “Hmm.” He <em>is </em>content. Content that Jaskier’s still here, content that he’s not angry with Geralt, content that his dirty, little secret hasn’t been exposed.</p>
<p>“Come on, what happened?” Jaskier pushes. “What’s got you so cheery?”</p>
<p>Geralt shakes his head softly. It’s not exactly something he can easily explain to Jaskier, of course.</p>
<p>“Alright then, keep your secrets.” It’s quiet for a few seconds, and Jaskier suddenly narrows his eyes at him. “You know, I still don’t know your name, my Wolf.” Geralt feels something soft in his chest at the nickname. Maybe he doesn’t want Jaskier knowing his name, maybe he wants to keep being called ‘his Wolf’. “Is it Jared? James? Ben? Nah, you don’t look like a Ben. Grant? Peter? No, maybe-“</p>
<p>“Geralt.” It’s out of his mouth before he knows it, and he cringes slightly at the fact that his voice is raw from disuse.</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks, lifts his head from his hands. “Wait, what?”</p>
<p>“My name. Geralt.” There’s no turning back now.</p>
<p>“Huh. Nice to meet you, Geralt.” As much as he likes being called Jaskier’s wolf, hearing his name roll off the younger man’s tongue sends pleasant sparks through his chest. “Also you can speak? I kinda assumed you were mute and I was trying not to say anything about it and be rude, but-“</p>
<p>Geralt throws another mock-glare Jaskier’s way, and the younger man stops rambling.</p>
<p>It’s quiet for a second or two. “I’m gonna keep calling you my Wolf, if you don’t mind.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” <em>Absolutely not, </em>he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. That’s enough words for today.</p>
<p>“I assume that’s a ‘<em>no, I don’t mind at all, I actually love being your Wolf’.</em>”</p>
<p>There’s a million and one things he wants to say right now, but he settles on the first word that comes to mind. “Jaskier-“</p>
<p>The younger man pales, his smile suddenly falling before a furious blush creeps up his cheeks. Jaskier abruptly stands up, and Geralt can’t help but frown, worry spreading through his chest.</p>
<p>“Excuse me. I gotta go,” Jaskier mutters. “Stomach-ache.”</p>
<p>And with that, he’s gone. Geralt’s left alone at the table, frowning at his hands. He’s really worried about Jaskier – he’s never seen him act like this before – and he wants to check up on him, but he also doesn’t want to invade on his privacy. He looks over at the table with Jaskier’s friends, who are all looking at the door Jaskier disappeared through, all frowning, all clearly worried, but none of them making a move to check up on their friend.</p>
<p><em>That’s decided, then. </em>He gets up, dumping his half-full tray on the tray collector, as he makes his way to Jaskier’s cell. He remembers the younger man once mentioning he sleeps in cell 24A, so he makes his way over to the A-block. He hesitates at the door for a few seconds, before softly knocking. “Jaskier?”</p>
<p>It’s quiet for a few seconds, and eventually, he pushes the door open a crack. Jaskier’s laying down on his bed, back turned to Geralt, shaking slightly. Geralt frowns, worry flaring up again, and he closes the door behind him, sitting down on the edge of Jaskier’s bed. Slowly, he reaches out, softly touching the younger man’s shoulder, feeling the trembling of Jaskier’s muscles beneath his fingertips. “You okay?”</p>
<p>Jaskier shakes his head, refuses to meet his eyes, and Geralt resists the urge to lay down next to him, to wrap him in his arms, to promise him that everything’s gonna be okay and that he loves him so much.</p>
<p>He closes his eyes for a second, lets the realization that he loves Jaskier wash over him, before opening his eyes again, pushing it towards the back of his mind, for now. “Anything I can do?”</p>
<p>Jaskier shakes his head again, but turns around this time. His entire face is red, and his normally so alert eyes are a bit hazy. Geralt frowns, softly touching Jaskier’s cheek. “You’re burning up.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Jaskier whispers, but Geralt knows it’s not.</p>
<p>“Do you want me to get a doctor?”</p>
<p>Jaskier shakes his head, softly taking Geralt’s hand, bringing their intertwined fingers to his chest, and Geralt resist the urge to lean forward and kiss him. <em>He’s not well, </em>he chastises himself. <em>The last thing he needs right now is your unwanted advances.</em></p>
<p>“Why are you here, Geralt?” He’s pulled from his thoughts at the question, and frowns. He assumes ‘<em>here’ </em>is the prison.</p>
<p>“Assault of a police officer.”</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks. “I- that’s not what I meant, but we’re so gonna discuss that later. I mean, why are you <em>here? </em>With me?”</p>
<p><em>Because I love you. </em>“I’m worried.”</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles softly, his eyes drifting shut, as sleep seems to overtake him. “You’re worried about me.”</p>
<p>He can’t help but smile at that, as Jaskier drifts off to sleep. When he’s sure that the younger man is truly asleep, he indulges himself, and leans forward, pressing a soft kiss against Jaskier’s temple. He leans back again, and makes a move to get up, only to find out his hand is still in Jaskier’s, who doesn’t seem to be planning on letting go anytime soon, their intertwined fingers tucked against his chest. Geralt sighs and sits back down again. Looks like he’s gonna have to wait until Jaskier either wakes up or lets go.</p>
<p>Not that he terribly minds, of course.</p>
<p>Ten minutes later, the door to the cell burts open, and one of Jaskier’s friends walks in, face angry, hands slightly trembling, blue eyes widening as he takes in Jaskier’s unconscious form and Geralt sitting next to him. “What did you do to him?”</p>
<p>Geralt frowns. “Nothing, he’s asleep,” he half-whispers, trying to make sure he doesn’t wake Jaskier up.</p>
<p>“But- but he ran off. He sat down at your table and then he ran off and you followed him.”</p>
<p>Geralt had forgotten that most people still think he’s a dangerous person, so showered in Jaskier’s friendship and trust that he’d forgotten about the rest of the world. Though, in a sense, they’re right – he <em>is </em>a dangerous person – they just don’t know that he’d never hurt Jaskier.</p>
<p>He shakes his head, finds his voice again. “He’s unwell. Stomach-ache, he said. But I think he’s also very tired.”</p>
<p>The man nods, breathing a soft sigh of relief, and closes the door behind him, sitting on the bed on the other side of the cell. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Don’t think he slept at all last night,” he half-whispers. He sighs softly, and extends his hand. “Istredd. Jaskier’s cellmate.”</p>
<p>Geralt leans forward, shakes Istredd’s hand with the one not occupied with Jaskier’s. “Nice to meet you, I’m-“</p>
<p>“The White Wolf,” Istredd fills in for him, some sense of awe in his voice.</p>
<p>Geralt frowns. “Is that what everyone calls me?”</p>
<p>Istredd nods, then shrugs. “No one knows your name. Except maybe Jaskier, but he’s never told us.” He blinks, then looks away, fidgeting with his blanket. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me, of course, I totally understand-“</p>
<p>“Geralt.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>He sighs. This is the second time he’s had to have this conversation today. “My name. It’s Geralt.”</p>
<p>“R- right,” Istredd stammers. “Nice to meet you, Geralt.”</p>
<p>It’s quiet for a while, as they both look at Jaskier, who’s still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the gentle tension in the room. Eventually, Istredd sighs, and stands up. “Look, I gotta go back to the guys, tell them you didn’t murder Jaskier or some shit.” He laughs awkwardly. “It was nice meeting you. You seem like a decent bloke, and uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry for, like… ignoring you and all that. We just… we thought… uh, yeah.”</p>
<p>The apology hits Geralt like a sack of bricks, and he nods, dumbfounded.</p>
<p>Istredd smiles again. “So… yeah. Take good care of him.”</p>
<p>“I will,” Geralt manages to choke out, as Istredd makes his way out of the cell, leaving them alone.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>A few hours later, Jaskier wakes up. They have a short chat and eventually Geralt retires back to his own cell, his chest strangely light, feeling a bit dizzy with both relief and all the revelations this day has granted him.</p>
<p>Jaskier doesn’t seem to know about the glory hole incident. He knows Geralt’s name, now. He’s not a murderer, and he knows Geralt isn’t one, either. His cellmate Istredd seems nice enough, and even apologized to Geralt for ignoring him all this time. Jaskier’s hands are as soft as Geralt always imagined they would be, and they fit in his almost perfectly. And, most importantly of all, he loves Jaskier.</p>
<p>All in all, a pretty busy day, and the second he lays down on his bed in his own empty cell, his eyes drift shut, sleep easily overtaking him.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The next day, at lunch, Jaskier doesn’t sit down opposite him, as he always does. It’s got Geralt worrying a bit, until Jaskier gently takes his hand, pulling him towards the table where his friends are sitting at. Geralt has to admit, he’s a bit nervous when he sits down next to an older man with a beard and sparkling, grey eyes, Jaskier sitting down on his other side.</p>
<p>The older man smiles at him. “Ermion. But everyone calls me Mousesack.”</p>
<p>“Uh… Geralt.”</p>
<p>Jaskier lets out an undignified noise on his other side. “Ermion? You never told me your name is Ermion. What the hell, Mousesack?”</p>
<p>Mousesack looks past Geralt, smiles kindly at Jaskier. “Names hold power, kid. Don’t give anyone your name until you’re absolutely sure you can trust them.”</p>
<p>Another guy snorts. His dark hair is slicked back, his goatee trimmed neatly. “Okay, first of all, you trust the White Wolf more than you trust us? No offence, of course, Mr. Wolf.”</p>
<p>“None taken,” Geralt says, can’t hide the soft smile tugging at his lips.</p>
<p>“And secondly,” the guy continues, “what the fuck are you talking about, ‘<em>names hold power’? </em>We’re not Fae, you superstitious, old idiot. Are you getting Alzheimer’s? Is that it, <em>Ermion? </em>Are you getting Alzheimer’s?”</p>
<p>“Vil, shut the fuck up,” a bald man with a ginger beard and a heavy, Scottish accent says. “Alzheimer’s isn’t a fucken joke, my nan died from that shite.” He turns to Mousesack. “But he’s also right. Names don’t <em>hold power</em>, what the fuck are ye talking about?”</p>
<p>Mousesack raises his hands, eyebrows pulled up. “I’m just saying. Don’t give out your name to every stranger you meet. Take a look at our White Wolf, over here.” He claps Geralt on the shoulder, who startles slightly as the attention of everyone at the table is suddenly directed towards him. “Scary guy until you learn his name, right?”</p>
<p>Istredd snorts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man. I’m <em>still </em>scared of him.”</p>
<p>Jaskier lets out a small sound of protest, mouth full of yoghurt. “Hey! Don’t be mean! He’s very nice.”</p>
<p>The bald guy snorts. “Right. Because I <em>totally </em>trust your judgement.”</p>
<p>“Rude,” Jaskier mutters next to him.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright, everyone calm down,” Mousesack says, laying his hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s not planning on killing any of us. Are you?”</p>
<p>Geralt frowns. Shakes his head.</p>
<p>“See? Nothing to be afraid of.”</p>
<p>Geralt finds out the bald man’s name is Yarpen, and the man with the black hair is called Vil. Though Vil insists on introducing himself as ‘Vilgefortz of Roggeveen’, something that elicits a collective groan from the rest of the group and a not-so-gentle-anymore reminder from Mousesack that names hold power.</p>
<p>The rest of lunch goes pretty smoothly, and by the end of it, Geralt actually feels comfortable around these guys. Sure, he still doesn’t talk a lot – he never did before, and he’s not really planning on starting now – but he doesn’t feel like running for the door every time someone looks at him or asks him a question. That’s the thing too: they’re asking him questions. And instinctively, he knows they’re not trying to pry personal information from him that they can use against him later, but that they’re asking because they’re genuinely curious as to who he is and what he has to say. It was already a weird feeling when it was just Jaskier asking him things, but now with the attention of five guys directed towards him, it feels even stranger.</p>
<p>But the strangest thing of all is that he finds himself not minding one bit.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>They’re laying in the field outside the prison, his head in Jaskier’s lap as he dozes, nimble fingers playing with his hair as Jaskier reads a book. It’s one of the last good days of autumn, a last hurray of sunshine and pleasant warmth in October before the chill truly starts to set in. It’s just the two of them, the other guys either at work or in the library or playing cards somewhere. He didn’t really pay attention when they were laying out their afternoon plans during lunch – he always sticks by Jaskier’s side, anyways.</p>
<p>He opens his eyes when he hears Jaskier sigh softly above him. “What is it?” he asks, when he spots Jaskier’s worried expression, teeth biting at his bottom lip.</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks, the troubled expression disappearing immediately. “Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it.”</p>
<p><em>Yeah, no, not gonna happen. </em>Geralt reaches up, pulling at Jaskier’s hair softly, earning him a quick laugh and a hand batting at his. “Tell me.”</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs again, closing his book and laying it in the grass next to him, his face turning grave again. “Well, it’s just… I’ll be out of here, eventually…”</p>
<p>“That’s the plan, yeah.”</p>
<p>Jaskier rolls his eyes and smacks Geralt’s forehead lightly, but he looks a little less troubled. “Yes, I know that that’s the plan. It’s just… I don’t know what happens next. I’m sure my apartment has been rented out to someone else by now, and finding… <em>clients </em>isn’t gonna be easy. I’ll likely have to start from scratch again.”</p>
<p>Geralt sighs softly, taking Jaskier’s hand in his, something that has become a natural reflex since the first time they held hands, and he blesses all his lucky stars that Jaskier lets him. He wishes there was more between them, that he could touch more without crossing any boundaries, but he clings to this single point of contact between them. He’s so lucky he already has this, he doesn’t want to ruin it by trying to take it a step further.</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles at him softly, as Geralt runs his thumb along the back of his hand. “You’ll be fine,” he says, and Jaskier nods, though he doesn’t seem entirely convinced.</p>
<p>“I hope so. So… when are you getting out of here?”</p>
<p>Geralt looks at the blue sky above Jaskier’s head, calculating the months he’s spent here and how many more he’s got left. “Three months or so?”</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks, a bright smile breaking out across his face. “Oh my God, me too! So we’ll get out at the same time, that’s fun!”</p>
<p>Geralt smiles as well, something that also seems to come more naturally to him these days. “I’ve got an apartment. You can stay there until you… get back on your feet.” He knows he’s toeing the line, here. It’s one thing to befriend someone in prison and hold his hand from time to time, but another to invite him to live with you when you’re both free again.</p>
<p>Jaskier face falls a little, and Geralt starts to worry that his fears have been confirmed: he went too far.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to, of course,” he adds quickly. “Only if you want. Just for a little while.”</p>
<p>Jaskier chews on his bottom lip again. “You… you sure you don’t mind?”</p>
<p>Geralt shakes his head. “No, of course not.” <em>I would give anything to see you every day for the rest of my life. </em>“You’re…” <em>Beautiful. Gorgeous. Perfect. I would do anything and everything for you. </em>“…my friend.”</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles widely, and Geralt can’t help but feel a little lighter. “Yeah, alright. Cool. Thank you, my Wolf.” He brings their still intertwined hands to his lips, kissing Geralt’s knuckles softly, and Geralt has to use all his concentration to make sure he doesn’t faint right there and then. “Thank you,” Jaskier whispers, blue eyes soft and relieved.</p>
<p>Geralt shrugs, looks away, the intensity of Jaskier’s gaze too much to bear. “No problem.”</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs again, smile slowly fading away. “Now I just gotta find a job, I guess. That’s gonna be fun.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure you’ll be fine, Jaskier. Really.”</p>
<p>“How can you be so sure? I mean, who’d wanna hire me? No way they’re not gonna find my record, no way anyone’s gonna want a <em>whore </em>as their employee.”</p>
<p>Geralt frowns. “Don’t say that. I’m sure you’ll find someone who’ll hire you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but where? I barely finished school, and the only thing I’ve got experience in is fucking people and letting them fuck me. So, what? Am I gonna have to work in a supermarket the rest of my life? Do I take on a massive debt and go to college only to not get employed by anyone anyways because I’ve been arrested?” His frustration falls away suddenly, voice growing sad and tired, as he looks at the grass, eyes distant. “I have no future,” he whispers.</p>
<p>Geralt tugs at their still intertwined hands. “Hey, look at me,” he mutters, and blue eyes fixate on him. “Tell me, if you had all the money in the world, and none of this had happened, what would you want to do with your life?”</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs, rolls his eyes, but indulges him. “I don’t know… I’d get married and shit. Maybe adopt, like, a dog. Open a flower shop.”</p>
<p>Geralt can’t help but smile. It makes sense that Jaskier likes flowers, for some reason.</p>
<p>Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Don’t laugh at me. You asked.”</p>
<p>He shakes his head, kissing Jaskier’s knuckles softly, mirroring Jaskier’s own gesture from earlier. “I’m not. It sounds very nice.”</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs, and looks away, still seems a bit sad. “Yeah. But it’s just a dream.”</p>
<p>Geralt nods, absentmindedly. “Just a dream,” he whispers, though in the back of his mind, a plan starts to form.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The next day, Jaskier sneaks up on him in the library. In reflex, Geralt accidentally elbows him in the nose. It’s the worst day of his life, no matter how many times Jaskier tells him it’s fine.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>A week later, they’re walking to the library after lunch. Jaskier is animatedly talking about a subplot from ‘<em>Days of Our Lives’ </em>so Geralt can follow the reruns that are always on tv in the rec room. Geralt doesn’t tell him he’s lost track of who all the characters are half an hour ago, or that he isn’t interested in watching ‘<em>Days of Our Lives’ </em>in the slightest. He likes hearing Jaskier talk about something so passionately, even if it’s just the subplot of some stupid, old tv show he doesn’t give a shit about.</p>
<p>Their bubble is burst, though, when someone behind them yells: “Hey, fags!” Geralt frowns and keeps walking, but Jaskier stops, turning around. Geralt takes a few steps back, grabs Jaskier’s upper arm and attempts to drag him along, but the younger man won’t budge, surprisingly strong as he tears his arm away from Geralt’s grip, his usually so relaxed and happy face morphing into one of pure fury.</p>
<p>“If you’ve got something to say, say it to my face, fucker,” Jaskier spits, opening his arms in a dramatic invitation.</p>
<p>The guy that had originally yelled at them grins maniacally, as some of his friends seem to join him, eager to see what’s going on. “I said ‘hey, fags’. It’s just that I wanted to ask you how you managed to tame the White Wolf. Did you suck his cock like a little slut or did you let him fuck you? Just wondering.”</p>
<p>Jaskier lunges, and Geralt grabs his arm again, this time crossing his other arm in front of Jaskier’s chest, holding him in place as the younger man struggles against his grip, face slowly turning red in anger, eyes spitting fire. “He’s not worth it, Jask,” he whispers.</p>
<p>“Let go of me!” Jaskier snaps.</p>
<p>“Jaskier, Jask, Jask, calm down,” he says in a low voice, trying to shush the younger man. “What are you gonna do? Hurt him? That’s just gonna end up with him walking away and you in solitary. Worst case, you’re getting extra time added onto your sentence. He’s not worth it, Jask.”</p>
<p>Finally, at last, Jaskier calms down, and Geralt slowly lets go of him, while the blonde asshole and his little friends laugh.</p>
<p>“Alright?” he asks.</p>
<p>Jaskier nods, slowly letting the tension seep out of his muscles. “Alright,” he mutters, and turns around, his back to the guy.</p>
<p>Geralt starts turning away, too, when the prick has the nerve to say: “Feral little birdie we got ourselves here, huh? Bet that wolf isn’t so tough at all, bet he was the one who had to suck some dick. Do you think he’d suck mine for a few bucks?”</p>
<p>Geralt reaches for Jaskier, but he’s too late, his fingertips grazing the fabric of his shirt as Jaskier turns around, and stalks towards the men. They have time to laugh at Jaskier’s outrage, though that stops immediately when Jaskier’s fist makes contact with the blonde guy’s nose with a satisfying <em>crack.</em></p>
<p>All hell breaks loose.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, for those who skipped the last part: basically a guy makes gross homophobic remarks about Geralt and Jaskier. Geralt tries to stop Jaskier from going feral. It doesn't work. Jaskier punches the guy. A cliffhanger after that lmao.</p>
<p>Also, I'm on tumblr! @queen-squish<br/>Again, comments fuel me! Every comment is a degree taken off the temperature outside. Let's end this heatwave together, guys, so I can actually focus while writing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My writer's block is officially over. I know this because my brain won't stop yelling at me about this fic (which is not ideal, given that I've got an exam next week, but it's also not my place to complain in case I accidentally jinx myself into another writer's block.) That means the chapters will be coming a bit faster! Yay!<br/>(but also my inspiration has the structural integrity of a bandaid so don't get your hopes up too much please and thank you)</p><p>Did anyone ask for hurt/comfort? Cause that's what you're getting.</p><p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and please don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p><p>(PS: Sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter. I just really like cliffhangers)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Jaskier tries to remember what happened later, he finds that most of it is a blur. He remembers the anger that had taken over his entire body when the guy had started to yell at them. He remembers calming down at Geralt’s soft words. He remembers losing all control and snapping when the guy had insulted his Wolf. He remembers the satisfying crunch of bone beneath his knuckles.</p><p>He knows he fought tooth and nail, nearly scratching the blonde guy’s eyes out, nearly biting off another guy’s finger, <em>definitely </em>landing more than one throat-punch. He also knows they fucked him up pretty badly in return. His ribs hurt, he has a black eye, and there are bruises and small cuts littering his entire body.</p><p>But his knuckles are also bruised and bloody. He can’t help but smile at that.</p><p>He feels guilty for dragging Geralt into all of this – his Wolf had come to his aid, likely because he didn’t like the odds of five guys against just one Jaskier. Which means he probably ended up in solitary, too. He just hopes Geralt doesn’t get any extra time added onto his sentence. Jaskier probably will, though.</p><p>For now, he’s in solitary. Will probably be here for a while. Maybe a week. Maybe longer. Not that Jaskier will know how long it’s been until he gets out and asks someone – one does tend to lose all sense of time in here. He can already feel it creeping up on him. He’s tired, but he’s not sure whether it’s because of the fight and the emotional stress, or because it’s the middle of the night. It had been right after lunch when the fight broke out, but he doesn’t know how long it lasted, or how long it took to break them apart, or how much time passed as they looked him over in the nurse’s office, or how long it’s been since he was thrown in here.</p><p>He’s not so naïve as to think that the meals will come regularly. He knows they’ll try to confuse and distress him, mentally exhaust him until he feels like he has no other choice but to comply and be a good boy for the rest of his sentence, lest he be subjected to the horrors of solitary again. It’s all part of their little game, he knows – the guards are too power-hungry to let an opportunity for psychological manipulation pass.</p><p>Still, that doesn’t really soften the agony of being trapped in a little box all on his own for days on end without seeing another person, without the concept of time, without proper food, without entertainment, without any sound other than his own heartbeat and his frantic breaths as the walls close in on him. No way of knowing how long he’s been here. No way of knowing how much longer until he’s let out. Maybe an hour. Maybe a day. Maybe a week. Maybe a month. Maybe they’ll fill out a fancy little form that deems him a ‘permanent danger to other inmates’ and keep him here for the rest of his sentence just to watch him squirm, just to find out what it takes to make him break.</p><p>He feels the gaze of the camera in the corner turn heavier and heavier with each passing second, minute, hour, day. He doesn’t know when he’s being watched and when not. He doesn’t know what they see. He doesn’t know what conclusions they’ll draw, what they’ll theorize about him amongst themselves, what jokes they’ll make, knowing that <em>they’re </em>not the ones being watched.</p><p>And even if the guards themselves <em>are</em> being watched, the higher-ups don’t care what they do or say. Jaskier’s not a human in their eyes. He’s a number and a crime and a pocket full of money to be taken with every video call he makes, every book he loans from the library, every hour he works without adequate pay.</p><p>He sighs, lying down on the hard floor, staring up at the unyielding lights in the ceiling. They don’t turn off at night, or any other time during the day. Just another way to confuse him and his concept of time. A stray part of him realizes his sleep schedule is gonna be so fucked up when he gets out of here, and he giggles, slightly hysterically.</p><p>He spends his time thinking about songs he used to listen to, about flowers and their meaning and how they would look arranged this way and that, about stories clients told him and the ones he made up for them, where he had a perfect childhood and he’s got a lovely family and <em>it was all great, it’s still going great, I promise. </em>He thinks about how the other guys will react once he gets out of here. Istredd would likely clap him on his shoulder, his eyes unreadable, and he would say nothing. Yarpen would likely pretend nothing happened. Vil would pull him aside, hold on to his shoulders, look deep into his eyes, and ask him if he’s alright – if he’s <em>truly </em>alright. No matter the truth, Jaskier would say yes. Mousesack would stare at him for a long while, and would pretend nothing had happened, yet he would take care of Jaskier in every little way possible until he’s sure he’s feeling better – give him extra yoghurt, make sure he’s had enough sleep, do things with him in the afternoon that he enjoys, like laying in the field, talking about the things he knows Jaskier likes.</p><p>But most of all, he thinks about Geralt.</p><p>He wonders if Geralt’s alright, if he got injured in the fight. If he didn’t make the dumb mistake of taking the blame. If he’s in solitary, too, and if he got time added onto his sentence. He wonders if Geralt’s asleep or awake, if he’s hungry or not, if his ribs ache as much as Jaskier’s do. He thinks about the time they spent together, at the lunch table, in the prison yard, in the library.</p><p>He pointedly does not think about the showers. The gaze of the camera in the corner is still heavy on him.</p><p>He eats the soup and bread they slide through a panel in the door from time to time. He sleeps when he’s feeling tired, he paces around when he’s feeling restless, he sings to himself when he’s feeling lonely. At some point they slide a bowl with water and a rag through the door, and he washes himself, though only in the places that are the most filthy and the ones he can reach under his clothes.</p><p>The gaze of the camera in the corner is still heavy on him.</p><p>Eventually, he runs out of things to think about, and it feels like the ceiling of the room is slowly descending down upon him. The dreams he’d been having when he was asleep fade away, too. He doesn’t really know when he’s sleeping or awake, anymore.</p><p>The point of solitary is to make him feel alone, to mentally wear him down to the point of total exhaustion, to psychologically break him until he has no other choice than to be a good little boy, or else he’ll have to endure this nightmare again.</p><p>And it’s working.</p><p>He feels like he’s on the point of breaking, like an elastic band inside his head has been stretched out too far, wearing thin, fraying at the edges, about to snap apart. He’s been feeling like this for a while. Sleep doesn’t loosen the elastic. Thoughts about flowers don’t, either. Songs, hopes, stories, memories. Nothing helps.</p><p>Except the thought of Geralt. It’s like the name’s written on the elastic over and over again, the ink the only thing holding it together. <em>Any minute now, </em>he thinks, for hours on end, <em>any second now, any moment now, and it’s gonna to snap. The ink’s gonna give out and the band will snap and I will be left with a loose and compliant mind.</em></p><p>Any minute now. Any second now. Any moment now.</p><p>And when he hears the rubber creaking in his head, when he feels that the strain is about to pull his mind apart, the door opens.</p><p>He’s put in cuffs, he’s led to his cell, he’s told to behave <em>(or else), </em>the cuffs are taken off, and he’s left alone. He imagined this moment many times before. He imagined he would laugh, scream, cry. He imagined he would jump up and fight the guards. He imagined he would go take a shower and wash the taste of solitary off his skin. He imagined he would find Geralt. He imagined a lot of things.</p><p>What he didn’t imagine was laying down on his bed limply, staring at the wall, unable to move, limbs heavy with fatigue, mind reeling from the sudden lack of strain on the elastic band. He closes his eyes, and falls asleep again.</p><p>---</p><p>He wakes up to his name falling from someone else’s lips, a hand on his cheek, a thumb softly brushing against the not-so-black-anymore eye, the swollen skin that is either purple or red or blue or yellow or perfectly fine, depending on how much time has passed since the fight.</p><p>“Jaskier?”</p><p>He shifts, leaning his face into the soft touch. It feels nice being touched, feels nice being acknowledged, feels nice to not exist in a vacuum. “Hmm.”</p><p>He hears a smile in that oh so familiar voice. “That’s my line.”</p><p>The hand leaves his face and suddenly Jaskier’s in limbo again. He shivers, trying to reach out, but he’s barely able to open his eyes, let alone move his heavy arms. “Hold me,” he whispers. “Please, don’t go. Hold me.”</p><p>A soft sigh, the creaking of a shitty mattress and the dip of the bed behind him. Strong, warm arms around him and he melts into the embrace, the tears that solitary left in him slowly mending bit by bit as he feels safe and warm and loved and – thank God – no longer alone.</p><p>“Geralt,” he rasps, voice raw from disuse. “Where… Is he alright?”</p><p>Another sigh behind him, the arms tightening slightly, pulling him closer. His ribs hurt but he ignores it. “I’m right here, Jask. I’m fine. It’s fine.” Skin against his, a nose against the back of his neck. “You’re gonna be fine.”</p><p>He nods, and lets himself drift off into a sleep that fortunately doesn’t feel so empty anymore. “Okay. Tell him…” <em>I love him, </em>he wants to say, but his tongue is heavy and useless in his mouth, no longer cooperating as sleep overtakes him.</p><p>---</p><p>He wakes up softly, gently, eyelids prying open bit by bit. Grey eyes are hovering in front of him, laughter lines creased with worry, something cool being rubbed into the swollen skin under his eye. He blinks, frowns, recognition dawning on him as the haze of sleep fades away. “Mousesack?”</p><p>The old man smiles softly, dipping his fingers in a pot of homemade salve. “You’re awake. Good.”</p><p>Jaskier groans quietly as he shifts, his ribs protesting. “Doesn’t <em>feel </em>good.”</p><p>Mousesack smiles again, continues gently dabbing salve onto Jaskier’s face. He focuses on the rest of the room. Istredd is sitting cross-legged on his own bed, blue eyes as unreadable as ever. Vil is right next to him, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. He gives Jaskier a quick grin, though the worry in his eyes remain. Yarpen is standing against the door, inspecting his nails, seemingly bored, though the quick tapping of his foot on the floor betrays his own inner turmoil.</p><p>Geralt’s sitting at the foot of his bed, one hand on Jaskier’s ankle, amber eyes equally worried and relieved. He has a split lip and the yellow remnants of a black eye. There are bandages peeking out above the collar of his shirt. Jaskier frowns. “Your… your shoulder,” he rasps, and Geralt gives him a half-shrug.</p><p>“I, uh… got shot. By one of the guards.”</p><p>It takes a while to process the words, but the second he does, guilt overtakes him like a flood. “Geralt, I’m so- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you into it, I-“</p><p>“Jaskier, it’s fine.” Geralt pushes himself up, sits back down closer to Jaskier, in front of his stomach, lays a soft hand on his arm. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“It’s not. I shouldn’t have lost control like that, should’ve just walked away. I’m such an idiot, I’m so sorry-“ He hiccups, lungs unsuccessfully trying to heave in air, as tears gather in his eyes. “Geralt…”</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay, ‘s okay,” Geralt mutters, hand tightening around Jaskier’s arm, amber eyes looking at him intently. “Just breathe.”</p><p>Jaskier nods weakly, trying to will his lungs into a deep, regular pattern. He looks at Mousesack again, who nods encouragingly. “Like that,” the older man mutters. “Just like that, buddy, you’ve got this.”</p><p>“Hurts,” Jaskier chokes out, ribs aching with the strain.</p><p>“I know. I know, buddy. You’re gonna be alright.”</p><p>Jaskier nods again, closing his eyes until his breathing starts to even out again. “How long?” he eventually asks.</p><p>Istredd is the one to respond, when the silence stretches on. “Two weeks.”</p><p>His eyes snap open again, and he looks around the room, the anger and sadness he sees mirrored in every face confirmation of what Istredd said. <em>Two weeks. </em>He spent two weeks on his own in solitary. It sounds insufferably long yet incredibly short at the same time.</p><p>There are multiple thoughts shooting through his mind. <em>Good thing it wasn’t a month, </em>the first. Then: <em>I must smell fucking terrible. </em>After that, there’s <em>Why do my ribs hurt so much? </em>and <em>I’m bloody hungry. </em></p><p>He takes another deep breath, calming himself down before he gets the chance to hyperventilate again. He looks at Geralt again, drinks in the familiar sight of him, relief slowly trickling through his system. “You?”</p><p>“A week,” Geralt says.</p><p>“So, uh…” He tries to clear his dry throat, swallowing thickly around his tongue. “What’s the time?”</p><p>“Right now?” Vil asks. Jaskier nods. “About ten in the morning.”</p><p>“Shit,” Jaskier rasps. “Missed my fucking shift.”</p><p>There’s a slightly uncomfortable chuckle rippling through the room, though the worry seems to lift from the air a bit.</p><p>“Want something to drink?” Mousesack asks, and Jaskier nods. Geralt helps him into a sitting position, shifting until Jaskier can lean back against his chest, before Mousesack hands him a paper cup of water. Jaskier drinks deeply, his parched throat begging for more immediately afterwards. He drinks two more cups before Mousesack denies him another, says he’ll throw it all up again if he drinks too much.</p><p>Jaskier sighs softly, leaning his cheek against Geralt’s chest, letting his Wolf gently hold him up. <em>I could get used to this, </em>a stray part of his mind thinks. He feels safe and warm and loved, his friends all looking at him with the same worried yet relieved expression, his Wolf right behind him, solid and alive, though hurt. Because of Jaskier. Because he couldn’t keep his fucking fists to himself. Because he <em>had </em>to punch the guy instead of walking away. Because of him.</p><p>“Hey,” Geralt softly says, and Jaskier cranes his neck to look at him. “I can practically see what you’re thinking. It’s not your fault.”</p><p>“It is, though. I started the fight.”</p><p>Yarpen snorts, the first time he’s made any sound since Jaskier woke up. “Yeah, no, lad. That fucker started it as soon as he yelled at the pair a’ ya. Don’t give a shite what the guards say – <em>he </em>started it, not you.”</p><p>“No offence, but it doesn’t really matter does it?” Jaskier asks. “What matters is what the guards think, and they think I started it.” The silence in the room stretches on uncomfortably long, and Jaskier chuckles without mirth. “Looks like I’m gonna have to stay a bit longer.”</p><p>Vil is the first to break the silence after that, sighing deeply as he stands up. “My shift starts in ten. I gotta go.” Yarpen steps out of the way to let him through, and the door closes softly behind him.</p><p>Istredd nods, standing up as well. “Yeah, it’s best if we go as well,” he nods at Yarpen, who nods back. “Let you get your rest.” And with that, they’re both gone, too.</p><p>Mousesack is still crouching next to Jaskier’s bed, grey eyes twinkling softly, kind smile on his face. He puts the pot of salve on Jaskier’s nightstand. “For the bruises,” he mutters. “I think your ribs are cracked a bit, too, so go easy on them, alright?” Jaskier nods, and the older man stands up, leaving the room as well.</p><p>Geralt starts to shift behind him, his arms retracting. Jaskier’s hand shoots up, holding onto his Wolf. “Don’t go,” he whispers. “Please, don’t leave me here alone.” He’s spent more than enough time on his own for the next few years, and the thought of being alone again makes his skin crawl.</p><p>It’s quiet for a while, as Geralt stills. “You sure?” he eventually asks, and Jaskier nods.</p><p>“More sure than I’ve ever been of anything.”</p><p>Geralt leans back against the wall again, strong arms drawing Jaskier closer, though Jaskier does hear the soft hiss of pain his Wolf lets out when he moves his left shoulder. Guilt starts creeping up on him, again, but it’s stopped quickly when Geralt whispers: “Not your fault.”</p><p>He sighs softly, curling onto his side, head pillowed on Geralt’s chest, hand over his strong and slightly irregular heartbeat. “It is, though.”</p><p>“It’s not.”</p><p>“Geralt-“</p><p>“<em>It’s not. </em>They provoked you.”</p><p>Jaskier scoffs softly, eyebrows knitting together at the pain in his ribs. “I let myself be provoked.” It’s quiet for a while. “So do you know if you’re getting extra time?”</p><p>“I’m not.” Jaskier sighs in relief. “They’re keeping a closer eye on me, but they acknowledge that I was just trying to stop you from getting beaten to death.”</p><p>“Thank you for that, by the way.”</p><p>Geralt chuckles softly, the vibrations of his voice tickling against Jaskier’s skin. “Always.” It’s silent for a few moments. “Go to sleep, Jask.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles, his eyes falling shut once again, the exhaustion of the past two weeks catching up to him. “I like it when you call me that.”</p><p>Geralt’s arms tighten around him ever so slightly, one hand rubbing Jaskier’s back gently. “Sleep.”</p><p>Jaskier sighs softly, lets himself relax into Geralt’s embrace even further, as a comfortable sleep finally overtakes him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm on tumblr, @queen-squish!</p><p>Also all the comments on the last chapter worked because the heatwave is finally over! Thank you so much.<br/>Please don't let that stop you from commenting on this chapter, though! Uh... every comment is an extra paragraph in the next chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As Mr. Hozier once sang: "The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun." (from the song No Plan). And I know our boys have been through a lot and deserve to be happy.<br/>That being said, I've taken my literary baseball bat and I'm gonna start swingin'.</p>
<p>I don't know if anything in this chapter warrants a trigger warning, but let me know if something does. ACAB, though.</p>
<p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few days pass in relative peace. Jaskier slowly heals, the mental strain of solitary making its way out of his head as his friends make sure he’s never alone for even a second, unless he truly insists on it – it’s just not fun to have someone accompanying him to the toilet, after all. His ribs get less painful by the day, the last remnants of the bruises fading away. He also finds out he won’t have to stay in prison longer, but the second he puts a toe out of line again, he definitely will get extra time added onto his sentence.</p>
<p>So all in all, it’s not that bad – sure, he feels the guards watching him more closely, and he notices that the other inmates are starting to look at him more frequently as well, but if he keeps his head down and stays out of trouble, everything should go fine until he can finally get out of here.</p>
<p>So of course, that doesn’t happen.</p>
<p>He’s walking to the rec room with Vil to go play some cards and maybe watch ‘<em>Days of Our Lives’. </em>Mousesack and Yarpen are both at work, Istredd in the library to get some more books on plants, Geralt in the gym, like he is every Tuesday – despite the gunshot wound in his shoulder he’s still healing from. Jaskier would’ve gone with him, but in all honesty, he really hates going to the gym, and even the prospect of possibly seeing Geralt shirtless and sweaty can’t sway him to go there. Besides, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t – after all, his gym privileges (because he apparently had those before) have been revoked due to the fight. He’s just not allowed to be in a room with heavy objects he can swing around. Not that he <em>wants</em> to start weaponizing random stuff.</p>
<p>But then again, he didn’t think he’d get involved in a fight in the first place, either, so he doesn’t put it past himself to start wielding weights if someone dares to even <em>think </em>badly about Geralt.</p>
<p>The protectiveness is new, too.</p>
<p>He shoves it to the back of his mind, for now, as he and Vil make their way to the rec room, discussing a rather <em>terrible </em>plot point from ‘<em>Days of Our Lives’</em>.</p>
<p>“I’m just saying, dude, that’s <em>not </em>possible,” Vil says, hands spread out dramatically in front of him as he walks.</p>
<p>“And I’m telling you it <em>is.</em>”</p>
<p>“Bullshit! No way you can get twins from two different men!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you can!” He cuts off Vil’s rebuttal: “<em>Yes, </em>I know it’s <em>very </em>unlikely, I mean, you gotta have two ovulations, and somehow the first guy’s semen doesn’t fertilize one of the eggs, and <em>yes, </em>the other guy’s gonna have to get in there really quickly, <em>but- </em>technically it’s possible.”</p>
<p>“I’m telling you it’s not, dude. Like, why <em>wouldn’t </em>the other egg get fertilized along with the first one? The sperms go in both tubes anyways, so there’s no way they didn’t find the other one.”</p>
<p>“Alright, <em>but </em>my gut feeling’s telling me it’s possible.”</p>
<p>Vil snorts, pushing at his shoulder. “Yo, fuck you and your gut feeling, dude.”</p>
<p>Jaskier grins and pushes back. “Fuck you too, man.”</p>
<p>“Hey!” He tries to look back at the unknown voice, but before he can fully turn around, the person has grabbed him by the back of his neck and slammed him against the wall. “No fighting, inmate!”</p>
<p>His hands scramble at the wall, trying to find something to hold on to, as the hand against the back of his neck and the force with which his chest is pressed against the cement cut off his air supply. “We- we weren’t,” he wheezes, struggling to breathe.</p>
<p>“Bullshit, I saw it clear as day, inmate.”</p>
<p>“Sir, sirsirsir-“ Vil cuts in, and from the corner of his eye, Jaskier can see him taking a step closer, hands in front of him, before taking a step back again when the guard lifts a finger in warning. “<em>Sir, </em>we were not fighting, I swear we weren’t, it’s just a friendly discussion, he’s my <em>friend</em>. Sir, please, it was nothing, I swear.” He sounds about as panicked as Jaskier feels, pleading with the guard in a soft voice. “Sir, please, it was nothing, we didn’t mean anything by it.”</p>
<p>It’s quiet for a second, as the edges of Jaskier’s vision start to blacken and blur a bit, his lungs struggling to take in air.</p>
<p>“Sir, please,” Vil whispers again, and finally the guard’s hold on Jaskier loosens – only slightly, but enough to push away from the wall about half an inch and take in a proper breath. He feels dizzy, and he’s sure that if he wasn’t being held up by the guard’s hand on the back of his neck, he would’ve collapsed by now.</p>
<p>It’s quiet for a few seconds, as Jaskier focuses on not passing out, and the guard and Vil have a staring contest. Eventually, Vil seems to give up, and looks away, shoulders slumping a bit. He looks up at the guard through his lashes, teeth worrying his bottom lip slightly – a technique Jaskier recognizes, something he’s used plenty of times, himself. <em>Subservience.</em></p>
<p>It seems to work, luckily, and the guard lets go of Jaskier completely, stepping back, as Jaskier turns and leans his back against the wall, trying not to fall over.</p>
<p>“Alright, fine,” the guard spits, pointing at both of them. “But I better not see shit like this again, <em>got it?</em>”</p>
<p>Vil nods. “Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>The guard looks at Jaskier, and he nods. “Yes, sir,” he manages to wheeze out.</p>
<p>After a few angry, power-hungry looks at the both of them, the guard leaves them be, stalking through the prison halls to find someone else to bother, most likely. As soon as he turns a corner, Vil unfreezes and hurries to Jaskier’s side. “You good, man?”</p>
<p>He slumps against the wall, nodding weakly. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He takes a couple of breaths, notes that his chest is starting to hurt again. “Fuck, dude messed up my ribs.”</p>
<p>Vil sighs, grabbing his upper arm. “How about we get you to your cell? Lay you down for a bit. Shit, man,” he mutters under his breath. “The motherfucker…”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Jaskier rasps back. “Fucking arsehole.” He wishes he could say that this would be the end of guards bothering him, but for some reason, he feels like this is far from over.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He was right.</p>
<p>He’s walking to his morning shift, the next day, the first one since the fight, and though he’s not looking forward to it, he’s also not complaining – the sooner things go back to normal, the sooner it’ll feel like he’s left this whole mess behind him. It’s a little before 4 in the morning, and the prison halls are empty and quiet, only one in five or so lights lit, casting several spots of dark shadows along the way. It puts him on edge slightly, but he’s walked these halls at this hour so many times before. Nothing to worry about.</p>
<p>That is, until a strong, slightly sweaty hand grabs him by the back of his neck – guards seem to be fond of this move, apparently.</p>
<p>“Stop right there, inmate.”</p>
<p>He sighs, but stills.</p>
<p>“And what are we doing outside at this hour, little man?”</p>
<p>He recognizes that voice. It’s Johnson, one of his least favourite guards – though they’re all fucking terrible in one way or another. It’s the same man that stopped him the first time he was headed to his morning shift, whose cock he had to suck to make sure he didn’t get thrown in solitary. So he knows this guard is definitely <em>well aware </em>of who he is and what he’s doing here at 4 in the morning.</p>
<p>He blames what he says on the fact that he’s still tired: “Sir, we both know I’m on my way to my morning shift.”</p>
<p>The hand on his neck tightens, pulling him back and down a bit, so he’s forced to slightly bend his knees, the muscles of his thighs and calves straining to hold him up so he doesn’t buckle to the ground. “Oh? We <em>both </em>know that?” He feels a hot breath against his ear, shivers at the sound of Johnson’s voice so close to him: “If I were you, I’d watch my mouth, <em>inmate. </em>I know you got into a fight, and I know that we’re alone here. It’s your word against mine. So let me tell you what we both <em>actually </em>know, buddy. We both know I can do whatever I want and get away with it. Now, tell me, <em>what. Are. You. Doing. Here. Inmate?</em>”</p>
<p>Jaskier swallows, feeling slightly faint, the blood supply to his brain constricted by the tight hand around his neck. “I am on my way to my morning shift, sir.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” He can hear the perverted pleasure Johnson’s getting from this in the guard’s voice. “And do you have a hall pass, little man?”</p>
<p>Jaskier nods, lowering one of his hands slightly. “Yes, sir. May I take it out of my pocket?”</p>
<p>“Go ahead, inmate.”</p>
<p>He slowly takes it, making sure he doesn’t make any quick or sudden movements to give the guard an excuse to hurt him. Though, Johnson doesn’t exactly <em>need </em>one. “Here you go, sir.”</p>
<p>The guard nearly rips it out of his hand, dropping it on the ground immediately, too quickly to have looked at it properly. “Checks out. Now clean up your mess, inmate, wouldn’t want random paper to lie in the halls now, would we?”</p>
<p>Jaskier shakes his head, stretching his legs again as Johnson lets go of him. He looks back, sees the guard staring at him, eyebrows up expectantly.</p>
<p>“Go on then, pick it up, inmate.”</p>
<p>Jaskier looks at the hall pass on the floor, before smiling lightly at the guard. He knows what Johnson wants – knows the man wants to see him bend over – but he’s not going to give in that easily. Instead, he keeps staring into the guard’s eyes, as he bends his knees, crouching down to get the hall pass. He can’t help the little triumphant smirk that graces his lips, as Johnson’s face slowly grows angrier and angrier – they both know Jaskier’s not doing what Johnson wants him to do, but he’s not disobeying the order, so there’s not exactly anything the man can do about it.</p>
<p>He stands up straight again, pocketing the piece of paper. “Are we done here, sir?” He’s still smiling, Johnson’s still looking angry. He shouldn’t be saying this. Shouldn’t be so confident. Shouldn’t provoke a guard. But he can’t help himself.</p>
<p>Johnson nods curtly, face slightly red. “You can go, inmate.” He turns around, and disappears back into the darkness, as Jaskier starts making his way to the kitchen again. He knows he made a mistake to defy a guard like this and openly gloat in it. He knows he shouldn’t have done it, but for now, he pays no mind to it.</p>
<p>It may have been one of the worst mistakes of his life.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>That afternoon, he’s walking around the prison garden with Geralt. He’d love to lay down in the grass, but late autumn has truly set in, and it’s now too cold to stay still for longer than a few minutes. So, they walk, side by side, Jaskier’s hands tucked under his upper arms to ward off the cold nipping at his fingertips. They’re both silent, though the quiet isn’t uncomfortable, merely enjoying each other’s presence, instead.</p>
<p>But Jaskier’s never been able to keep quiet for longer than fifteen minutes.</p>
<p>“So,” he begins, hopping a bit in place to shake some warmth into his cold legs. “Wanna exchange childhood trauma?”</p>
<p>Geralt snorts, shaking his head at the directness of the question. “I- sure, I guess.”</p>
<p>“Alright, shall I go first?” Geralt shrugs, and Jaskier thinks for a few seconds on where to start. “So, my parents are rich as fuck. Or were. I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know?”</p>
<p>“Haven’t seen them in a while. You see, my dearest Wolf, they’ve never really cared for me much. They thought a child could save their shitty marriage; surprise, surprise, it did not. They stayed together because neither wanted to depart with half the fortune, but boy, oh boy, did they detest each other.” He shrugs, smile slowly fading away. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, after all, but for some reason he wants Geralt to know this stuff – not because he wants pity, God no, but because he wants Geralt to have the full picture, he supposes. “Anyways, they cheated and drank their days away, dropped me off with a nanny at first, and then at a boarding school. After my last school year, at the ripe young age of eighteen, I came back home to find it sold. Turns out that, the second I became of legal age, they disowned me and moved to the Caribbean. I had no money but a very nice education, so there were a few paths I could take. I picked becoming a prostitute. And that’s the story of how I came to be… well, me.”</p>
<p>Geralt frowns. “Wait, you <em>chose </em>to do sex work?”</p>
<p>Jaskier blanches. “What, you thought I was forced into it? Jesus, Geralt, I wasn’t trafficked, God no. You know, someone could very well <em>want </em>to be a prostitute, it’s hard and honourable work.”</p>
<p>Geralt blinks, bites his lip. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, just…”</p>
<p>“The stereotypes?” His Wolf nods. “I get it. People just don’t really… understand. Doesn’t matter, I guess. Not that I’m gonna be able to do it again once I’m out of here, so I’m gonna have to find something else, I suppose.”</p>
<p>Geralt nods and it’s quiet for a while as they continue walking.</p>
<p>“So,” Jaskier eventually mutters. “What’s your tragic backstory, my Wolf?” His face falls. “Unless you don’t wanna tell me, that’s okay, of course. And I’m not assuming you <em>do </em>have a tragic backstory, I mean, it’s quite possible you had a very happy, very great childhood-“</p>
<p>“I didn’t.”</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks. “Oh.”</p>
<p>Geralt shrugs, takes a deep breath, looking down at his feet. “My, uh… my mother left me at a train station two days after I was born.”</p>
<p>His mouth falls open slightly, and he nearly trips over his own feet. “God, I’m sorry to hear that.”</p>
<p>His Wolf shrugs again. “Was in and out of foster care for most my childhood, until Vesemir took me in when I was about eight. Stayed with him ever since. He’s tough but fair. Disappointed I ended up here, though. He hasn’t visited me once.”</p>
<p>Jaskier frowns, looping his arm through Geralt’s, resting his head on a broad shoulder. “Damn… That’s fucked up.”</p>
<p>Geralt snorts, the heaviness around them falling away a bit. “Guess it is.”</p>
<p>He shivers, the cold creeping into his skin despite his coat. Geralt stops walking, taking one of Jaskier’s hands in both of his, rubbing the fingers slightly, warming him up. “Better?” he asks, before blowing his warm breath between his cupped hands, onto Jaskier’s.</p>
<p>Jaskier nods, his mind suddenly blissfully empty, mesmerized by the single point of contact – by the feeling of Geralt’s fingers against his, his warm breath against his skin, the momentary brush of Geralt’s lips against the side of Jaskier’s hand. “Th- thank you,” he whispers.</p>
<p>Geralt drops his hand, but before Jaskier can mourn the loss, his Wolf’s already taken his other hand, warming it up in the same way, amber eyes never leaving Jaskier’s face. They’re so close, now, nearly standing chest to chest, Geralt’s mouth so close to Jaskier’s hand, and he wants to stretch his fingers, trace the line of those full lips – God, how he wonders if they’re as soft as they look, how he wonders how they would feel against his.</p>
<p>Geralt lowers their hands, but doesn’t let go, every point of contact between them filling Jaskier’s mind until he can’t focus on anything but Geralt and how it feels to touch him. He wants to tug his Wolf closer, wants to connect their lips, wants to hold him and be held, wants to, <em>wants to, wants to. </em>He barely registers the fact that he’s leaning forward ever so slightly, the gap between them closing bit by bit, and God, <em>how he wants to.</em></p>
<p>Geralt drops his hand and turns away, and just like that, the moment’s over.</p>
<p>Jaskier clears his throat, following his Wolf when he starts walking again, Geralt’s hands buried in his pockets. “We should head inside,” Geralt says, and Jaskier nods.</p>
<p>“Yeah, it’s getting a bit too cold for me, here, I suppose. I get cold easily, though, so I hope your apartment is well insulated.”</p>
<p>Geralt stays silent for a second or so. “It’s… it’s not,” he mutters.</p>
<p>“Oh, that is unfortunate!” Jaskier says, but can’t keep the smile off his face, because <em>it is definitely </em>not<em> unfortunate. </em>He sighs, dramatically and wistfully. “Guess I’ll just have to find someone to keep me warm during all those cold nights.”</p>
<p>He grins, looking at his Wolf for a reaction, a small smile or a confirmation that’ll tell him that maybe, just maybe, Geralt feels the same way. Or might, one day. But no, Geralt frowns. “Guess you do.” He seems so unbelievably sad all of a sudden, and Jaskier’s hope deflates. “I- I don’t really like strangers in my home, though.”</p>
<p>Jaskier frowns, stops walking, Geralt stilling too after a few steps, looking back at him. “S- <em>strangers? </em>Geralt, that’s not what I meant.”</p>
<p>“Then what did you mean?” He hates how his Wolf sounds so insecure, and Jaskier wants to run up to him, wants to grab his stupidly handsome face in his hands and kiss him silly and tell him he’s dumb and beautiful and gorgeous and that he’ll never want anyone else but <em>him. </em>He wants, <em>he</em> <em>wants, he wants. </em></p>
<p>But there are lines that should not be crossed, there are simply things he cannot do because Geralt doesn’t feel the same way. Geralt’s first thought when Jaskier mentioned cuddling someone for warmth was ‘he’s gonna invite a stranger’ and not ‘he’s asking <em>me’. </em>Obviously, his Wolf doesn’t feel the same way, it’s clear as day.</p>
<p>So he shakes his head, looks away. “I- nothing. Nevermind. Let’s head back inside.”</p>
<p>He turns around, heading back for the prison, trying to blink those stupid, desperate tears away. <em>Pull it together, Jask, </em>he tells himself, as he swallows around the knot in his throat. Of course Geralt doesn’t feel the same way. Of course he never will. He should’ve seen, should’ve known sooner. The pain in his chest is his own fault, he knows – he shouldn’t have been stupid enough to get his hopes up.</p>
<p><em>Romantic little boy, </em>his father had always told him, a sneer around his thin lips. <em>Romance won’t get you anywhere in life, boy. You’ll just end up hurting yourself.</em></p>
<p>Jaskier’s starting to suspect that his father had been right.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He wakes up in the middle of the night when the door of the cell slams into the wall. He sits up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Wh-“</p>
<p>He’s abruptly grabbed by the collar, hoisted upright, before he’s pushed into the wall next to the door. He hears Istredd protesting meekly as he, too, is pulled from his bed and shoved against the wall. “Shut it, inmates!”</p>
<p>Oh, so it’s a guard. Or, well, several guards, Jaskier notices out of the corner of his eye, cheek painfully pressed against the cement wall. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>He’s pulled back a bit, before being slammed against the cement again, the side of his head exploding in pain, stars dancing behind his eyelids. “I said, shut it, inmate!”</p>
<p>There are loud noises filling the cell, now, of wooden furniture clattering on the floor, of the screech of metal as his bed is turned upside down. His eyes widen as a familiar face appears in front of him, grinning from ear to ear. “<em>You,</em>” he hisses at Johnson.</p>
<p>The man smiles sweetly. “Me,” he confirms. “Got a little anonymous tip that you’re hiding drugs here, boy.”</p>
<p>Despite the fact that he’s been told to shut up several times, he can’t help but spit: “Well, good luck, you’re not gonna fucking find any.”</p>
<p>“Jaskier, shut up,” Istredd hisses next to him, sounding panicked.</p>
<p>The guard that’s holding him against the wall chuckles softly. “Better listen to your pal, buddy, or else we’re gonna have to put you in solitary for disobeying a direct order.”</p>
<p>Jaskier grits his teeth, but keeps his mouth shut. Sure, he’s not happy with this midnight raid, but solitary is a terrifying memory he doesn’t want to relive anytime soon. Or ever, really.</p>
<p>Johnson appears in front of his face again, roughly grabbing his cheeks in one hand, grin turned satisfied and predatory, sending unpleasant shivers up Jaskier’s spine. “So, not only a whore, but a <em>lying whore, </em>huh?” Jaskier resists the urge to spit in the guard’s face.</p>
<p>Though that urge disappears completely, replaced by the cold ice of shock, as Johnson points to another guard, who’s holding up a little plastic bag with something green in it. Jaskier’s seen it enough times to recognize what it is. <em>Weed.</em></p>
<p>“Look at what we found under your mattress, little man,” Johnson sneers.</p>
<p>He wants to protest, wants to say that it is not his, but one look into the bastard’s eyes tells him that Johnson already knows that.</p>
<p>He’s being set up. And he’s powerless to stop it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Yes, I know, another cliffhanger, I'm sorry. Lots of things are gonna happen next chapter and this seemed a logical place to end this one.)</p>
<p>Also I'm on tumblr, @queen-squish!</p>
<p>Again! Please don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment! 1 comment = 1 brick thrown at Johnson's face.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the cliffhanger, y'all! I know cliffhangers suck, but I had to stop the chapter somewhere, and I am, as they say, a dramatic bitch. <br/>Also, uhm... we've collected enough bricks for Johnson's face now - or what's left of it anyways. Great job!</p>
<p>Okay, so big, huge-ass content warning for this chapter! Non-consensual touching and talk about sexual coercion (though nothing graphic and nothing happens). If you want to skip that (which I understand completely), look for the *. For context for those who'll skip to that: Jaskier and Johnson are walking to solitary.</p>
<p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His mind is reeling from shock and from how surreal this entire situation feels, racing to find ways that he could get out of this, somehow, as Johnson grins at him, a predatory and self-satisfied edge to his smile. He realizes it sooner than his mind is willing to accept it.</p>
<p>There is no way out.</p>
<p>“Alright, inmate, we’re gonna have to search you.” The other guard releases his hold on the back of Jaskier’s neck. “Hands against the wall, legs spread.”</p>
<p>Jaskier obliges, even though it makes his skin crawl. He glances to the side, sees Istredd looking at him with wide eyes, for once not unreadable. Istredd knows Jaskier’s being set up, he knows it clear as day, but he, too, can’t do anything about it. Jaskier looks away again, can’t bear the concern and worry in Istredd’s eyes. Concern and worry’s not gonna help him, here. He’s not sure what will.</p>
<p>He averts his gaze from Johnson when the guard goes to stand behind him, head falling forward, shame heavy around his neck. “Eyes ahead, inmate.” Jaskier looks at the wall, muscles tensed, bracing himself. Though, nothing’s able to prepare him for Johnson’s hands on his shoulders, patting down his arms with harsh yet lingering touches. He resists the urge to curl in on himself, to jerk away from those probing and searching hands – moving even a muscle won’t do him any good right now. It’ll likely earn him a beating or a week in solitary or whatever Johnson’s sick mind can think of at the moment.</p>
<p>So, he lets himself be patted down, hangs his head as Johnson’s hands move lower and lower, softly squeezing his chest, making bile rise up in his throat. He feels his face turn hot and red in shame, everyone in the room watching as Johnson cups Jaskier’s cock. “Hmm. Hiding something here, boy?”</p>
<p>Jaskier shakes his head, stomach churning, skin three sizes too small. “No, sir.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” Johnson hums again, moving his hands to Jaskier’s legs, fortunately. “We’ll likely have to do a more… <em>thorough</em> search later.” He resists the urge to throw up.</p>
<p>“Sir,” one of the guards says. “That’s not… that’s not what the rules say-“</p>
<p>“Beckett, shut the fuck up,” Johnson snaps, finally removing his hands off of Jaskier’s legs, taking a step back. “<em>I </em>decide what the fucking rules are, here, got it?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” Beckett mutters.</p>
<p>Johnson’s hand grabs the back of Jaskier’s neck. “And as for you, little man… Well, let’s just say that I really hope you enjoy solitary, cause you’re gonna be spending a <em>lot </em>of time in there.” He tugs at Jaskier, forces him to move to the cell door. “Let’s go, boy.”</p>
<p>Their footsteps echo through the halls as they walk further and further away from Jaskier’s cell, Johnson eventually dismissing the other guards as they get closer to solitary, pressing his gun into Jaskier’s side to make sure he doesn’t try to escape, hand like a vice around his neck.</p>
<p>“You know,” the bastard hisses in Jaskier’s ear, once they’re alone. “I think the cameras in solitary might’ve broken the other day. I think that might be working in your favour, inmate. No one can see what you do in there.” Jaskier <em>really </em>doesn’t like his tone. Johnson sighs mock-wistfully. “I can imagine this must be a <em>terrible</em> situation for you. After all, no one likes being in solitary, and you’re looking at a long time in that place. Of course, if you were to, let’s say, <em>offer </em>me a <em>favour, </em>well, then some things can be forgiven, some… <em>misunderstandings </em>cleared up. Not all of them, no, of course not, but you might not have to spend as long in solitary as you would if you offered me nothing.”</p>
<p>God, is this what this is all about? Johnson wants him to suck his dick again? Jaskier had thought this was about the fact that he didn’t want to bend over for the bastard, that morning – though it certainly does seem to factor in it – but all this, just to coerce Jaskier into performing sexual acts? Seriously?</p>
<p>But Jaskier knows Johnson was right that morning: it’s his word against a guard’s, and if there’s no evidence, then people are gonna choose the guard’s side. Hell, even if there <em>is </em>evidence, there’s still a very big chance that they’re still gonna stick by Johnson.</p>
<p>So now what? He can either refuse Johnson and spend a lot of time in solitary, before spending even longer in jail, still, for the drug charges – it could cost him years of his life. <em>Or, </em>he can do what Johnson’s implying: offer the guard his body, just like he’s done so many times with so many people, before he ended up in jail. But something tells him he can’t pretend Johnson’s just another client, not with the way the guy holds a gun to his side, not with the way he’ll have to do it in a <em>jail cell, </em>for God’s sake. This is different. <em>This is wrong. </em>He doesn’t <em>want </em>to do this, and while Johnson’s pretending to give Jaskier a choice here, they both know he can’t refuse the opportunity to get at least a little bit of time shaved off his undoubtedly long sentence.</p>
<p>And that’s the thing, too: who knows if Johnson’s gonna do as he promised? Shit, he may pretend to ‘forget’ why he promised to help Jaskier out (to escape a situation the bastard <em>himself </em>created, nonetheless) and ask him to ‘remind’ him why he’s doing it. Johnson could hold this over his head indefinitely. And if he doesn’t, <em>even if he doesn’t, </em>Jaskier’s still looking at <em>years </em>in jail for something he didn’t do.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>His feet trip over themselves, Johnson’s gun pressing into his side a bit harder, the hand closing around Jaskier’s throat more tightly. “No funny stuff, inmate.”</p>
<p>His skin suddenly feels hot and cold at the same time, sweat breaking out across his palms and forehead, panic building in his chest, as he tries to breathe with constricted lungs, heart hammering in his throat. <em>Oh God, oh God, oh God, </em>there’s no way out, no escape. If his life wasn’t ruined before, it certainly is now, and he’s powerless to stop it, and <em>God, </em>if Johnson’s hand could relax around his throat just a little bit, he could at least <em>breathe, </em>but he can’t even do that anymore.</p>
<p>Black spots dance in front of his eyes, his feet tripping over themselves, every cell in his body screaming at him to just get away, <em>get away – </em>from the hand around his neck, from the gun in his side, from the uncertain and seemingly terrible future ahead, and <em>God, he can’t do this, he can’t do this.</em></p>
<p>His body reacts before his mind can, and his hands push at the guard, back twisting and turning to wrench himself out of that iron grip, feet kicking at shins and ankles and whatever body part he can find. And finally, <em>finally, </em>he manages to extract himself from that vice-like hand around his neck, back hitting the wall painfully, and <em>God he’s free, he’s finally free, </em>and-</p>
<p>The <em>bang </em>of a gun going off is loud in his ears, bouncing off the cement walls and the linoleum floor. Jaskier stills, panic slowly ebbing away, replaced by the cold wash of shock, as he looks at Johnson in front of him, the gun in the guard’s outstretched arms, the man’s own face turning pale with surprise and shock as well.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck,</em>” Johnson mutters, repeating it under his breath as he lowers his gun, eyes wide with panic, his voice quickly drowned out by the sound of several pairs of running footsteps in the distance. Jaskier frowns. He’s not sure what the problem is, here, not sure why all the blood has drained from Johnson’s face – though he admits he really likes seeing the bastard so scared and shocked.</p>
<p>He tries to push himself away from the wall, but slumps back against the cement when the movement makes pain spark over his skin, the aftershocks of it rumbling through his bones like thunder. Slowly but surely, the cold numbness of shock makes way for pain, pain, <em>pain. </em>The feeling returns to his fingers and toes and by God, how he wishes it wouldn’t.</p>
<p>It hurts, it hurts so incredibly much, and as he looks down, he puts the pieces of the puzzle together. <em>The loud bang of the gun. The shock and panic on Johnson’s face. The pain spreading through his chest. The warmth trickling down his side.</em></p>
<p>There it is, the blooming rose of blood spreading across the fabric of his shirt. He’s been shot.</p>
<p>His legs give out underneath him, right hand clumsily coming up to clutch at the wound, though it only serves to make the pain worse. He barely registers it when his ass makes contact with the linoleum floor, barely registers it when Johnson lurches forward, hands pressing against the hole in Jaskier’s chest, a litany of ‘<em>fuck fuck fuck fuck’ </em>muttered under his breath, barely registers it when more guards come skidding around the corner.</p>
<p>All he registers is the <em>pain pain pain </em>spreading through his chest, tendrils of it licking at his stomach and limbs, all he registers is the desperate constricting of his one functioning lung as he tries to gulp in breath after breath, all he registers is the fast pumping of his heart, its desperate attempts to keep him alive only serving to kill him more quickly, to push the blood out if his body faster.</p>
<p>He coughs, wet and rough, a small trickle of blood slipping from his lips, and he gags at the overwhelming taste of copper on his tongue. The other guards are there, now, all of them bending over Jaskier, their faces a mix of horror, confusion, and a sort of morbid curiosity as they look at the dying man in front of them. Someone suggests to lay him on the floor, another perks up to say that it’s better if Jaskier stays upright. One guard mentions that they should press the wound shut, a different one says it’s best not to.</p>
<p>Jaskier chuckles softly, mirthlessly, at their bickering. <em>You’d think someone authorized to fire a gun would know how to handle bullet wounds, </em>he thinks to himself. <em>But apparently not. </em>The edges of his vision are starting to blacken, and his head lolls to the right. He feels faint, it’s hard to keep himself seated, to keep himself from falling down on the linoleum completely.</p>
<p>God, is this how he’s gonna die? All these years he’s been struggling to keep himself afloat, all these years he’s spent living his life and building his future, gone, just like that. His memories, his hopes, his dreams, every single moment he’s ever lived, every single person he’s ever loved, everything he is and stands for, his <em>entire life </em>culminating… in <em>this? </em>Covered in blood and dust, on a dirty, linoleum prison floor, surrounded by guards bickering amongst themselves about how to not let him die.</p>
<p>He laughs again, more blood fighting its way up his throat, and he feels it bubbling at the back of his mouth with every desperate breath he takes, effectively managing to breathe it back into his only functioning lung. The seat of his pants feels wet, and he knows it won’t be long until he blacks out from blood loss.</p>
<p>The voices of the guards already sound far away, and he lets his eyes unfocus. If he’s gonna be condemned to dying in this hallway, in the middle of the night, like <em>this, </em>might as well spend his last thoughts on things that truly matter.</p>
<p>Or well, the person that truly matters.</p>
<p>He wishes he’d gotten more time with Geralt, wishes he could see him one last time. But Geralt’s safe in his own cell, probably blissfully unaware of what’s happening right now. He wonders who’s going to tell his Wolf that he passed tonight, wonders when and where and how, and how Geralt will react to the news. Maybe he’ll be devastated – maybe he’ll cry about it in the privacy of his own cell that night – or maybe he won’t really care that much.</p>
<p>Though something in Jaskier tells him the latter won’t be the case. Something in him tells him that Geralt <em>does </em>care, truly, deeply, even if he doesn’t really know how to show it. Now, he just wishes he hadn’t been such a coward earlier that afternoon, in the prison yard, that he’d let himself kiss Geralt when he desperately wanted to do so.</p>
<p>God, so many things left unsaid, so many things left undone, but, as he starts lilting to the side, his vision slowly taken over by the black spots, his entire life <em>drip drip </em>dripping away with each drop of his blood running down his side, he can’t find it in himself to care that much. After all, once he’s dead, he either won’t know, or he’ll be sipping Margaritas in the afterlife. No, the burden of his death falls upon his friends’ shoulders, upon Geralt’s.</p>
<p>So be it, then. Nothing he can do about it, anymore.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>There have been a lot of surprises in his life. Getting disowned and abandoned was one. Being arrested was another. Meeting Geralt and falling in love with him was the most pleasant one.</p>
<p>But the biggest surprise he’s ever had in his life <em>has</em> to be the fact that he just woke up.</p>
<p>He frowns, blinking the fog of unconsciousness away, as he stares at the white-tiled ceiling. He’s in a bed – a pretty comfortable one, as well, which is unusual for the prison – and he feels, strangely enough, <em>not </em>like he’s been shot. He wonders for a second if it was all some crazy, stupid dream, but then he takes a deep breath, and the pain in his chest tells him it’s not.</p>
<p>He shifts his arm a bit, the rattling of metal on metal distracting him from the hurt momentarily. He looks down to see that his wrist is handcuffed to the railing of the bed- the <em>hospital </em>bed. Which must mean that he’s in a hospital. Makes sense.</p>
<p>The door to the room opens, a doctor walking in, peering at the tablet in her hands, a hospital guard walking in after her to stand by the door. Jaskier can tell it’s a hospital guard, because the man doesn’t look all that ready to murder Jaskier, and he knows a prison guard wouldn’t hesitate even a second to do so.</p>
<p>The doctor looks up at him, smiling lightly, though nervously as well. Jaskier gets it. He’s still a prisoner, after all, and she doesn’t know what he’s done. All she knows is that he was shot by a prison guard and that he’s now handcuffed to the bed – hell, he might as well be a violent offender, and she would be none the wiser.</p>
<p>“Mr. Pankratz, how are you feeling?”</p>
<p>He scoffs, letting his head loll back against the soft pillow – God it’s been a while since he felt a pillow this good. “Pretty shit,” he rasps out, voice raw from disuse. “Feel like I’ve been shot in the chest.”</p>
<p>She laughs softly, politely. “Well, you got lucky, Mr. Pankratz. You were shot in your right lung, no other vital organs damaged. You lost a lot of blood, but they managed to get to you in time. You were in surgery for a while, so you’ll probably still feel a bit drowsy, but all in all, you should make a full recovery.”</p>
<p>Jaskier grins up at the ceiling. “Yay, lucky me. So how long do I have to stay here?”</p>
<p>“A few days or so. Then you can continue your recovery at the prison.”</p>
<p>He nods, and she moves to check the monitor he’s hooked on, and the IV that disappears into his right arm. “Press the red button if you need anything,” she tells him, and he nods again.</p>
<p>She bids him a good evening – because apparently it’s evening, again – and walks out of the room, the hospital guard following closely behind.</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs, relaxing into the soft bedding. Sure, it’s not great to have been shot, and he feels slightly trapped, with the handcuffs chaining him to the bed, and the IV line connecting him to the metal pole next to him, but it’s still a hell of a lot better than solitary. At least here, he has a nice, big, unopenable window he can admire the view from. It does look very pretty, with a forest in the distance, separated from the hospital by a parking lot, and he wonders if this place is close to the prison or not. He supposes it doesn’t really matter.</p>
<p>He wonders how Geralt and the rest of his friends are doing, though. They must be worried, and probably shocked. And <em>definitely </em>outraged when they find out about the drugs Johnson planted. Jaskier groans to himself softly. God, he’d forgotten about the planted drugs, so focused on not bleeding out on the linoleum floor to think about what the future might hold.</p>
<p>But here, he’s got plenty of time to think.</p>
<p>But he also has a tv, so there’s no need to think, right now. He falls asleep with reruns of ‘<em>Days of Our Lives’ </em>playing, the sounds of drama softly lulling him into unconsciousness.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He’s been to plenty of five-star hotels before, whenever his parents deigned him worthy of the hassle of taking him to another country. Rooms worth hundreds- <em>thousands</em> a night, people ready to serve you whatever you want before you can even think about wanting it, beds made of the finest of silks, bathrooms laid in with emeralds, goddamn geese shitting gold at your command or what-fucking-ever. He’s seen it all and even more extravagant (and God, how he hated it).</p>
<p>But no five-star hotel room money can buy could ever feel as good as this hospital room feels to Jaskier, the few days he gets to stay there. He has a nice view, and if he gets tired of that, he has a nice tv. He gets to lay down in a comfortable bed all day, though from time to time a nurse will help him into a chair so he can sit instead of lie down. Either way, he’s happy. The food tastes surprisingly fine, compared to the prison food, and he can even distinguish individual – fresh! – vegetables on his plate. He’s well taken care of, treated like a normal human being, so he can go right back to prison once he’s healed enough.</p>
<p>A pig prepared for the slaughter.</p>
<p>Still, his mind can’t help but wander back to Geralt, whenever he gets tired of the view or the tv. He wonders if Geralt’s worried – probably – and he wonders if that’s keeping his Wolf from taking care of himself – also probably. He wonders if this entire ordeal put Geralt on edge, and if he ended up in a fight again because of it – not as probable, but still a possibility, and that’s already enough to worry Jaskier. He wonders when he’ll be able to go back to the normal blocks after his recovery, and how tightly he’ll be able to hug Geralt, then, without reopening his wound. He wonders how it would feel to be able to hold Geralt and let Geralt hold him, wonders how it would feel to pull back, look up at his Wolf, and kiss him. Wonders if Geralt’s lips are as soft as they look, wonders if his Wolf feels the same way, wonders if it’s worth the risk of losing his best friend and the possibility of at least admiring Geralt from afar.</p>
<p>But then he remembers bleeding out on the linoleum floor, he remembers his last, fleeting thoughts, and how they had all revolved around Geralt and how much he loved his Wolf, and he decides that the second he sees that stupid, handsome face again, he’s <em>kissing it, goddammit. </em></p>
<p>He never really understood it when people said they would ‘live each day like it was their last’, but he’s starting to get it a little bit better, now.</p>
<p>For the first time in a long time – because he’s got nothing better to do here, anyways – he thinks back to the prison showers. Or, better said, that one Tuesday evening, months ago, now. In all the craziness of… well, <em>everything, </em>he’s pushed it to the back of his mind, to be re-examined later. But, well, it’s <em>later, </em>now, so he supposes it’s time to take a closer look at it again.</p>
<p>So what are the facts again? The facts are that Jaskier sucked someone’s dick through a glory hole, without either of them knowing who was on the other side, and the other person called out Jaskier’s name when he came. Jaskier later realized the other person was Geralt.</p>
<p>A simple enough story, really, but Jaskier’s still not sure what to make of it, especially given the way their relationship has evolved over the past few months. At the very least, at that moment in time, Geralt was physically attracted to Jaskier. <em>Wouldn’t be the first, </em>Jaskier thinks to himself, grinning up at the white-tiled ceiling. But at that time, they barely knew each other.</p>
<p>And once they <em>did </em>get to know each other, Geralt showed no sign of being interested in Jaskier in any way, shape, or form. Hell, even a few days ago, when Jaskier suggested they could cuddle for warmth one day, Geralt had assumed Jaskier was talking about a complete stranger.</p>
<p>But he had seemed so sad, so insecure. And when Jaskier got back from solitary, Geralt would barely stray from his side, holding his hand whenever he could, and Jaskier would feel his Wolf’s gaze on him whenever Geralt thought he wasn’t paying attention. All signs that Geralt <em>cares- </em>truly, deeply <em>cares. </em></p>
<p>So it doesn’t match up. It doesn’t match up <em>at all</em>.</p>
<p>Unless…</p>
<p>
  <em>Unless…</em>
</p>
<p>Jaskier shoots upright in the bed, the cuffs chaining him to the bed rattling loudly against the metal bar, the <em>beep beep </em>beeping of the heart monitor he’s attached to speeding up dangerously, and he can hear footsteps down the hall, the nurses or doctors probably about to check up on him to see if he’s not having a heart attack – though it <em>feels </em>like he is.</p>
<p>God, how he’d been <em>stupid- </em>a blind idiot, his head buried in self-pity so far he ignored the obvious signs right in front of him, refused to put the pieces of the puzzle together: the devotion and care with which Geralt treats him, all while ignoring or nearly flat-out refusing Jaskier’s every attempt to hint at something more, Geralt’s absolutely terrible people skills, and his low self-esteem.</p>
<p><em>Stupid, stupid, </em>stupid little boy Jaskier had been, too blind to see the obvious, draw the conclusions he should’ve drawn.</p>
<p>Geralt doesn’t think Jaskier would ever love him, so he flat-out denies every hint at something more. Even though- <em>even though…</em></p>
<p>His breathing is shallow, chest aching as his lungs work overtime to keep up with his racing heart. The door to the room opens, a nurse running in, clearly worried about Jaskier and what his monitor tells her, but he barely registers it, the realization washing over him in dizzying waves.</p>
<p>
  <em>Geralt loves him.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wowie. Lots of things happened in this chapter! Finally we're getting somewhere with these two idiots.<br/>Also I'm on tumblr, @queen-squish!</p>
<p>Again, please don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!!<br/>1 comment = 1gentle smack against the back of Jaskier's head for not realizing that Geralt loves him sooner. <br/>(also 1 comment = 1 very very happy author)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whooptiedoo, I passed my last exam (and officially finished my first year of med school, who would've thought??) , so to celebrate, here's the new chapter a day early!</p><p>Got some uhh... Geralt POV coming up! Two chapters of it, even, because my boy has a lot of Thoughts and a lot of things Happen. </p><p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The <em>bang </em>of a gun being fired is loud in his ears, leaving behind an unpleasant, high screeching noise, and if he hadn’t been in so much pain, Geralt would’ve clutched at the sides of his head.</p><p>It takes a while to orient himself, to remember what just happened. <em>Jaskier. The guy yelling at them. The fight breaking out. </em>He’s on the floor, now, his left shoulder burning unpleasantly, the flames licking down his arm and across his chest, his shirt growing wetter with his own blood by the second. The guys that he was fighting are out of sight, but when he shifts his head – the movement sending a new wave of pain through him – he can see them lined up against the wall, getting handcuffed by the guards.</p><p>Jaskier’s standing next to them, getting handcuffed as well, and from what Geralt can see, he’s in pretty bad shape – his face bruised, several scrapes and cuts along his neck and arms. Jaskier moves to turn his head towards Geralt, but before he can look at him, the guard starts pushing Jaskier away, probably towards solitary.</p><p>Geralt, on the other hand, is still lying on the floor, pain throbbing through his shoulder, his blood dripping on the floor. His vision starts to grow fuzzy around the edges, black spots dancing in front of his eyes, and without much hassle, he welcomes the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.</p><p>---</p><p>He wakes up in solitary. He blinks up at the fluorescents, and frowns, the shitty mattress hard beneath his back. Slowly, but surely, the memories of the fight come back to him, along with a few snippets of him getting carried to the hospital wing, of the burning pain of an anaesthetic being injected into the wound, of the glint of metal tweezers before they disappear beneath his skin, retrieving the bullet, of white bandages being wrapped around his shoulder.</p><p>He sighs, moving his right hand up, tentatively grazing his fingertips along the soft cloth of the bandages. He cranes his neck to see if they’re bloodied, but the movement sends a shock of pain through him, and he looks up at the ceiling again. He touches the bandages again, even the slightest hint of pressure sending sparks of pain down his arm and across his chest. They feel dry, though, and when he pulls his hand back, his fingers are clean – so he hasn’t bled through the bandages. Yet.</p><p>Well, that’s the only good news he’s had today.</p><p>He doesn’t really wanna try to sit up. The movement would probably hurt him immensely, and he might even reopen his wound, which is the last thing he wants or needs. And even if he does manage to sit up, what will he do? Look at the wall instead of the ceiling? Go the extra mile and try to stand? Then what? He’s still in solitary, there’s nowhere else to go, nothing else to <em>do, </em>besides just lay or sit or stand there and <em>think.</em></p><p>So that’s what he does, he stays on his back, blinking up at the slightly-too-bright fluorescents lazily, and thinks. He thinks about Jaskier, mostly, because of course he does – he always does.</p><p>He wonders how badly hurt Jaskier is, wonders if he’s doing alright and if he’s in a lot of pain. He wonders if Jaskier’s in solitary, though that seems very, very likely; he also wonders if Jaskier’s in the cell next to his. That’s the thing about solitary – someone could be a thousand miles away, shipped off to another prison, or they could be a few feet away, only separated from him by a concrete wall. Both of them would be none the wiser either way.</p><p>He wonders how long Jaskier will have to spend in solitary, if he’s getting extra time for the fight. He wonders how Jaskier’s faring – probably not too well; he’s a people person, after all.</p><p>But he might also be underestimating Jaskier – just like Geralt overestimated himself, he finds out, as the minutes turn into hours, and the hours turn into days. After the first time he went to solitary – when he accidentally punched that guy in the library, all those months ago – he was basically ignored by the entire prison. All those weeks he spent alone at the table for every meal, alone in the prison halls for every free hour, unacknowledged by everyone around him, it hadn’t felt that different from being in solitary. Exactly zero social interaction, just with the added bonus of being able to move around.</p><p>So, he’d thought going back to solitary wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he’s used to it.</p><p>Or so he was, until Jaskier came along. Until Jaskier acknowledged his existence and sat with him and talked to him. Until Jaskier treated him like an actual human being with thoughts and feelings and dreams and hopes, and not just another part of the furniture. Until Jaskier came in and swooped him off his feet until he felt like he was flying, getting high on the mere presence of that blue-eyed miracle. Until Jaskier showed him what he’d been missing all his life.</p><p>Until Jaskier gave him hope, that he might one day have the things he would never even dare dream to have.</p><p>Happiness, belonging, <em>love</em>.</p><p>And it turns out that Geralt had to go to solitary to finally realize that he’d come to divide his entire life into two parts: Before Jaskier, and With Jaskier.</p><p>God, how he hopes there won’t be an After Jaskier.</p><p>At least he has agreed to stay with Geralt for a while, after they would both get out – though that moment might have to wait a little longer, given the current circumstances. At least Jaskier will stay in his life, even if only until he finds his own apartment. At least Geralt will have him close, just for a little longer.</p><p>But every day with Jaskier is worth a thousand on his own.</p><p>He sighs, closing his eyes when he feels them starting to grow heavy. He chuckles at himself when he realizes that until Jaskier, he never would’ve waxed on poetically about someone like this, even if it’s just in his own head. Until Jaskier, he’d thought a lot of things impossible, and yet, here they were. He sighs again, slowly letting sleep overtake him, the fluorescents shining on his eyelids, still, turning his whole world red.</p><p>God, how he wishes he would see blue again.</p><p>---</p><p>He startles awake when the door to his cell opens. He frowns at the guard who enters, as he wonders if solitary is already over, if they’re already bringing him back to his cell.</p><p>But then he sees the white rolls in the guards hand and realizes that the man is only here to change Geralt’s bandages. The guards here will gladly do many things to the inmates, but letting them die of blood poisoning isn’t one of them, luckily – though that also makes sense; the paperwork of that would be a nightmare.</p><p>Geralt slowly pushes himself upright, his shoulder screaming in pain the entire time, as the guard approaches him, hand on his gun. He kneels next to the mattress, raising his hand when Geralt opens his mouth.</p><p>“Not allowed to talk, inmate. This is solitary, not a tea party. Don’t try any funny business, there are cameras everywhere, and there’s another guard right outside the door. Nod if you understand.” Geralt nods. “Good.”</p><p>The guard sets to work on removing the bandages from Geralt’s shoulder, and he leans his head back against the wall, looking straight at the camera in the corner. There’s no doubt that someone’s watching, right now – it would be foolish not to do so, when there’s a guard on his own with an inmate, the gun on the man’s hip a temptation for anyone more dangerous and strong-willed than Geralt.</p><p>A particularly hard yank at the bandages as the guard wraps them around Geralt’s shoulder has him cringing in pain, but he stays obediently quiet, gaze fixed on the camera in the corner.</p><p>After a few minutes, the guard leaves, and Geralt’s once again alone with his own thoughts.</p><p>---</p><p>The next week passes in pretty similar fashion: the guard comes in at irregular times, the food never arriving at a set hour, either, only serving to confuse Geralt’s sense of time. Slowly, but surely, the wound in his shoulder starts to heal, and Geralt lets out his excess energy by pacing around his cell. And the whole time, his thoughts are filled with <em>Jaskier – </em>how he’s doing, if he’s hungry, or cold, or tired, or hurt, if he’s already out of solitary, or transferred somewhere else, for some reason, if he’ll forget about Geralt during the time they’re spending apart, if he’ll hate Geralt for interfering with the fight. Granted, the last two things don’t seem all that likely, but that doesn’t stop Geralt from fearing the worst.</p><p>He’s always been a bit of a fearing-the-worst kinda guy, anyways.</p><p>But eventually, the door to his cell opens again, and two guards step through. They bring him back to the normal prison blocks, and leave him behind in his empty cell with the express order to not try any funny stuff again, and to go to the nurse’s station every day for a change of bandages. Failure to follow this order would result in – you guessed it – more time in solitary.</p><p>It’s the middle of the night, so he goes to sleep in his still very empty cell.</p><p>In the morning, he immediately finds the wankers at the breakfast table. They look up in wonder and surprise when they see him approach, but don’t say anything, yet.</p><p>Geralt sits down, and Mousesack claps him on his right shoulder. “Look who’s back.”</p><p>Geralt snorts, shakes his head. “Is-“</p><p>“Jaskier’s still in solitary,” Istredd says, clearly already very well aware of what Geralt was gonna ask. “Don’t know how long he’ll have to be there.”</p><p>Geralt nods, a pit forming in his stomach, as he bends over his breakfast. He doesn’t realize he’s scanning the room for any sign of Jaskier – as if he might magically appear there, released from solitary for some obscure reason – until Mousesack tells him to stop looking around so much, he’s catching negative attention. Mainly from the guys who they got into a fight with in the first place. Three of the five men are sitting at their table, glaring at Geralt, covered in slowly fading bruises and scratch marks that are undoubtedly Jaskier’s work. Geralt figures the other two guys must’ve either ended up in the hospital wing for a prolonged amount of time, which doesn’t seem likely, or that they’re still in solitary, just like Jaskier.</p><p>That realization makes him feel at least a little bit better, and he ducks his head to hide his smile behind his hair.</p><p>---</p><p>The next week is torture.</p><p>He still worries about Jaskier, of course – how he’s doing, if he’s still hurt, if he’s eating enough, if he’s not too cold, if he’s not too lonely – but when Geralt himself was in solitary, he could just sit back and drift, let his thoughts wander into oblivion, staring at the wall with a blank mind, sleep whenever he wanted to just so he didn’t have to think for a while, and lose himself in the liquid of time until hours passed like minutes.</p><p>But out here, back in the ‘normal’ world, he’s acutely aware of every single second, minute, hour that passes without Jaskier there. Time slows to a crawl, and he finds himself checking the clock on the wall obsessively, mentally cursing the hours for not going by more quickly. Out here, he’s supposed to do stuff, go places, adhere to the daily schedule the guards have imposed on them. He’s not allowed to just sit on his bed all day and stare at the wall – at least he thinks he’s not, and if he is, it’s still very much frowned upon.</p><p>Every waking second, his head is filled with <em>Jaskier, </em>with wondering and worrying and thinking about all the things he would say if he ever saw the younger man again. He tries asking one of the guards if they know when Jaskier’s being let out, but they brush him off, tell him it’s none of his fucking business. He supposes it isn’t, really – Jaskier will probably be fine, whether Geralt is there or not.</p><p>It hurts, the realization that he needs Jaskier more than Jaskier needs him, but that’s just how things are, and Geralt figures he’ll probably have to find a way to stop himself from falling head over heels with Jaskier as soon as possible, before it’s too late.</p><p>But when Istredd suddenly runs up to him in the hall, a few days later, and tells him that Jaskier’s back from solitary, the crushing relief in Geralt’s chest tells him it already is too late.</p><p>He tries not to run – after all, guards <em>really </em>don’t like it when people run – and he’s trembling with the effort of it. He half-throws the door to Jaskier’s cell open, nearly crying at the sight of him, curled up on his side, his body littered with fading bruises, but <em>alive </em>and <em>safe </em>and <em>there. </em></p><p>Later, when all the other guys are gone again, and Jaskier’s laying against Geralt’s chest, breath deepening as he falls asleep, Geralt vows to himself to never, <em>ever </em>let anything like this happen to Jaskier again. To make sure he’s safe and happy and well taken care of. Because the sight of Jaskier like this – broken and bruised and tired – hurts Geralt more than any gunshot wound ever could.</p><p>---</p><p>So that’s exactly what he does. He doesn’t stray from Jaskier’s side – unless Jaskier explicitly asks him to, and unless he has to go to the prison gym once a week to make sure he stays strong and healthy, ready to fight off anyone who dares even <em>look </em>at Jaskier the wrong way – he glares at anyone even remotely threatening, making sure they know that if they want to mess with Jaskier, they’ll have to go through Geralt first, and he tries to steer Jaskier away from any guards, knowing that they might lash out if provoked even the slightest bit.</p><p>Whenever he’s not looking around for any potential threats, his eyes seem glued to Jaskier, checking for any sign that he’s in pain or getting agitated at something or someone – the last thing anyone needs is Jaskier getting in a fight again. The bruises fade from his skin, slowly but surely, and with every day that passes, Jaskier seems more and more like himself again, the heaviness of solitary falling from his shoulders.</p><p>The first time Jaskier laughs– <em>truly </em>laughs, Geralt nearly cries in relief.</p><p>And when Jaskier confides in him, tells him about his childhood, Geralt returns the favour. It’s only fair, and for some reason, it feels important to him that Jaskier knows about it, knows what he’s getting into, if he ever- if he were to…</p><p>No. Jaskier would never fall in love with him. He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s kind and snarky and sunshine and bites and snarls and <em>strength </em>and <em>joy. </em>And what is Geralt? A looming, brooding idiot who did one good thing, once, and landed in jail for it. No. Jaskier’s way too good for him, and they both know it. Everyone seems to know it, judging by the taunting sneers the other inmates throw at the pair of them, from time to time.</p><p>But Jaskier’s also <em>cold- </em>Geralt can feel him shivering against his side. He stops walking, turning to take one of Jaskier’s hand in both of his without second thought; after all, part of keeping him safe is making sure he doesn’t get frostbite. He rubs warmth into Jaskier’s fingers, blowing his breath between his cupped hands, onto Jaskier’s. “Better?” he asks.</p><p>Jaskier’s mouth is slightly agape, blue eyes wide with an emotion Geralt can’t let himself identify. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Jaskier nods. “Th- thank you,” he whispers.</p><p>Geralt drops the hand, but immediately takes Jaskier’s other one, warming it up in the same way, looking at his face the entire time, making sure he’s not uncomfortable or wants Geralt to stop. They’re so close now, nearly standing chest to chest, Geralt’s mouth so close to Jaskier’s hand, and he wants to turn it, wants to press his lips against that soft palm, wants to kiss his wrist and feel that rabbit-quick pulse beneath his lips.</p><p>He lowers their hands, though, but doesn’t let go, as Jaskier softly worries his bottom lips between his teeth, blue eyes never leaving Geralt’s face. He wants to tug him closer, wants to connect their lips, wants to hold him and be held, wants to, <em>wants to, wants to. </em>He feels himself leaning forward ever so slightly, the gap between them closing bit by bit, and God, <em>how he wants to.</em></p><p>But he can’t. They both know Jaskier’s too good for him, and he doesn’t want to lose his best friend, the possibility to at least admire him from afar.</p><p>He ignores the ache in his chest as he drops Jaskier’s hand and turns away, the moment suddenly over.</p><p>He starts walking again, Jaskier following him, and Geralt can feel the younger man shiver next to him again. “We should head inside.”</p><p>Jaskier nods, all sunshine and happy smiles again. “Yeah, it’s getting a bit too cold for me here, I suppose. I get cold easily, though, so I hope your apartment is well insulated.”</p><p>His heart drops to his stomach. “It’s… it’s not,” he mutters. Oh, God, what if that means Jaskier won’t wanna stay with him anymore? What if this is the turning point and he loses him forever? All because of bad insulation?</p><p>“Oh! That’s unfortunate!” Jaskier says, but he sounds as if he doesn’t find it unfortunate at all. Which is strange. “Guess I’ll just have to find someone to keep me warm during all those cold nights.”</p><p>Jaskier grins, looking at Geralt. He frowns. He’d gladly offer to keep Jaskier warm for the rest of his life, but- but surely Jaskier didn’t mean it like <em>that. </em>“Guess you do,” he says, a pit forming in his chest at the thought of Jaskier bringing someone else to the apartment to keep him warm all night. “I- I don’t really like strangers in my home, though.”</p><p>Jaskier stops walking, and Geralt does too after a few steps, looking back at the younger man. “S- <em>strangers? </em>Geralt, that’s not what I meant.”</p><p>“Then what did you mean?” He doesn’t really know how else Jaskier could mean it. Unless – as unlikely as it sounds – he was talking about Geralt. He wants Jaskier to say it, wants him to run up to Geralt, kiss him silly and tell him that he wants him, will never want anyone else but <em>him. </em>He wants, <em>he wants, he wants.</em></p><p>But Jaskier shakes his head, looks away. “I- nothing. Nevermind. Let’s head back inside.” And with that, he walks away, leaving Geralt a broken and hurt mess in the prison yard.</p><p>As he follows Jaskier inside, he curses himself for getting his hopes up, for even <em>considering </em>that Jaskier might want him that way, now or in the future. It’s stupid. He’s stupid.</p><p>He should stop getting his hopes up all the fucking time.</p><p>---</p><p>He wakes up in the middle of the night when a distant <em>bang </em>rings through the prison halls, and he frowns, listening for any more sounds, but it remains quiet. He shrugs his confusion away – someone probably dropped something, somewhere in the prison, or they slammed a door shut, or whatever. It doesn’t matter.</p><p>He falls back asleep.</p><p>---</p><p>In the morning, he washes and dresses himself, before heading to breakfast. He frowns when he walks past a janitor, mopping up red liquid in one of the halls. <em>Blood.</em></p><p>There’s a rather large pool of it – though, judging by the stains on the linoleum, it was a lot bigger before the man started cleaning it up, completely covering one side of the hall. The bucket of water the man’s using is already red with the stuff, the scent of copper heavy in the air. There’s a bloody handprint on the wall, and a trail down, where the victim probably slid down to the floor.</p><p>So the noise he heard last night wasn’t just something being dropped, or a door slamming shut. It was a gunshot. He feels sorry for the victim, but keeps walking. It’s none of his business anyways.</p><p>When he enters the dining room, and heads for the wankers’ usual table, he’s confused to find it empty, except for Mousesack, sitting all by himself, staring down at his folded hands on the tabletop, face grave. He looks up when Geralt approaches, a darkness descending over his usually so calm and composed features, and a pit starts to form in Geralt’s stomach.</p><p>Something’s wrong. Something’s <em>very </em>wrong.</p><p>Mousesack stands up, taking Geralt’s elbow in a soft hand. “Wolf, we need to talk. Somewhere else. In my cell.”</p><p>Geralt frowns again, but nods, following the older man out of the dining room, towards cell block B. As soon as they enter Mousesack’s cell, he turns around, worry and confusion making his stomach churn. “What’s going on? Where is everyone- where’s Jaskier?”</p><p>Mousesack leans against the closed door, rubbing his palm over his forehead, before motioning towards one of the beds. “You might wanna sit down.”</p><p>“No, I don’t wanna sit down, I wanna know what’s wrong.”</p><p>The older man sighs again, looks at him, something in his eyes making Geralt’s heart drop even further. It takes a moment to identify the emotion. <em>Fear. </em>Mousesack opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking away. “I don’t know where to start,” he mutters. “I don’t know how to tell you this.” He looks at Geralt again. “I think- <em>we </em>think…” he motions to no one in particular, though Geralt knows he’s talking about the rest of the group. “We think Jaskier might be dead.”</p><p>The world falls away beneath Geralt’s feet, and he doesn’t realize his legs have given out underneath him until his ass makes contact with one of the beds. His head is spinning, mind reeling, heart racing, lungs constricting as panic floods him like a tsunami. He feels like he’s about to throw up, feels like he’s about to pass out, feels like he’s about to scream, cry, punch the wall.</p><p>But at the same time, he feels numb, like this isn’t real, like this isn’t truly happening.</p><p>“What…?” he manages to say, his breath knocked out of his lungs.</p><p>Mousesack sits on the bed opposite him, eyes pensive and sad. “Last night, one of the guards did a midnight raid in Jaskier’s cell. He planted some drugs, then took him to solitary.” The words sound distant, as if Geralt’s underwater, and it takes several moments before he truly understands them. “We don’t really know what happened next, we only know what Istredd told us, but he heard a gunshot, not far from their cell, and when he went to check it out this morning…”</p><p>“The blood,” Geralt whispers. He remembers, remembers how big the pool of it had been, how it had spanned half the hallway, the handprint on the wall, the trail of brownish red down to the floor. He can’t stop his mind from imagining- imagining Jaskier getting shot, imagining him bleeding out on the dirty linoleum floor, scared and alone, imagining him afterwards, face blank, blue eyes empty, laying in a pool of his own blood.</p><p>He stands up abruptly, staggering out of the cell, through the hallways, until he’s found the bathroom in the east wing, not far from Mousesack’s cell. He falls on his knees in front of one of the toilets, retching, hands clutched around his stomach, the image of Jaskier dead forcing itself upon him every time he closes his eyes, hot, bitter tears finally spilling over.</p><p>He feels a warm, reassuring hand upon his shoulder, hears Mousesack’s soft voice behind him. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”</p><p>He doesn’t acknowledge the words, doesn’t pay mind to the older man – sorry won’t bring Jaskier back, won’t stop the hurt screaming through his body – as he quietly sobs into his own hands, arms suddenly painfully empty.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, okay, okay. I did NOT mean for this fic to turn out so angsty when I first wrote about Jaskier getting shot, but my brain only has one mode and it's angst mode, apparently. I'm sorry! I promise they'll get some fluff soon!<br/>(also I'm on tumblr! @queen-squish)</p><p>Once again, please don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!<br/>1 comment = 1 Gentle Hug For Geralt<br/>(and 1 comment = 1 very very happy author)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST<br/>(I'm sorry for so much angst, y'all, but I promise there will be fluff very soon)</p>
<p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He doesn’t know how much time he spends on the bathroom floor, Mousesack still a calm but slightly annoying presence behind him – Geralt would like to be alone, right now – and he hears several other prisoners pass by, probably casting curious glances through the open stall door.</p>
<p>Slowly, but surely, a realization starts to sink in.</p>
<p>Mousesack didn’t say that Jaskier’s dead. He said that they <em>think </em>he’s dead. He said that they don’t know what happened, really, and that no one had seen the event happen. Meaning… <em>meaning…</em></p>
<p>Geralt always curses himself for getting his hopes up, but right now, it’s the only thing stopping him from having a complete breakdown on the bathroom floor. Slowly, his tears dry, and he lowers his hands into his lap, straightening his spine.</p>
<p>“Geralt?” He can hear the confusion and worry in the older man’s voice. It makes sense that he’s worried – Geralt is, too. He feels eerily calm, all the panic and fear suddenly washed from his mind, burned away by the foolish rays of <em>hope.</em></p>
<p>“How do you know?” he asks, voice level and even, even though he feels like he’s teetering on the edge between sanity and a meltdown, and which direction he falls in depends completely on what Mousesack will say.</p>
<p>“Know what?”</p>
<p>“That he’s dead.”</p>
<p>The older man stays silent for a second or so. “We… we don’t. Not for sure- Geralt, where are you going?”</p>
<p>His body has moved before his mind’s even aware of the plan forming in his head. They don’t know Jaskier’s dead, not for sure, not a hundred percent. And yes, the pool of blood was very large – enough blood to indicate someone’s bled to death, there – but it was just that: blood. No body. And as long as no one’s seen a body, Geralt refuses to believe that Jaskier’s really gone.</p>
<p>He doesn’t really know what to do now, but his legs carry him back to the hallway. The pool of blood is gone, but the linoleum and cement are still stained, the evidence that this isn’t all happening in Geralt’s head still there. There’s a guard there, too, his face pale, his hands slightly trembling, as he stares at the stains on the wall and on the floor. His left hand is consciously held <em>away </em>from the gun on his belt, splayed against his stomach, as if he’s about to be sick.</p>
<p>The guard looks up as Geralt approaches, the vulnerable and shocked expression falling away, annoyance appearing on his face instead. Geralt knows this guard, has seen him before, but he can’t really remember his name. <em>James, </em>maybe, or <em>Jones. </em>Something with a J. It doesn’t really matter, though, the thing that’s most important is that this has to be the man who shot Jaskier.</p>
<p>He stops two feet away from the guard, hands clenching into fists as he tries to control his temper. Getting thrown into solitary won’t do him any good, right now. “Is he dead?” he grits through his teeth.</p>
<p>Something like guilt flashes over the guard’s face, before he sneers at Geralt. “Yes, he is. Good fucking riddance.”</p>
<p>He feels Mousesack’s soft hand on his shoulder, and it’s the only thing stopping him from punching the guard. “Why? At least tell me why.”</p>
<p>The man snorts, half turning away from Geralt, eyes straying to the bloodstains once more. “I don’t have to tell you shit, inmate. But if you really wanna know, he tried to grab my gun. That’s why.” He fully turns away now, stalking off, footsteps echoing through the hall.</p>
<p>He looks at Mousesack, sees the grief and anger in the older man’s eyes. “Bullshit,” Mousesack hisses. “Jaskier would never. Just like he would never hide <em>drugs.</em>” He sighs softly, hand leaving Geralt’s arm, before turning away as well, gaze avoiding the bloodstains on the floor and the wall. “But it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, and anger won’t bring Jaskier back from the dead. I’ll… I’ll tell the others.” He starts walking away, but stills after a few steps, looking over his shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss, Wolf. I know what he meant to you.”</p>
<p>Geralt nearly snorts – he’s sure Mousesack doesn’t have the slightest clue how much Geralt loved Jaskier – but the older man is already gone, leaving him alone, right next to where Jaskier bled out on the linoleum floor, alone and scared and in pain. He looks at the stains, waits for the grief and the hurt to hit him, waits for his legs to give out underneath him as his entire world falls away. Waits, and waits, and waits.</p>
<p>But nothing comes.</p>
<p>Because he doesn’t believe it. He doesn’t believe what the guard told him, because why <em>wouldn’t </em>the man lie? Hell, he lied about the drugs he found in Jaskier’s cell, he lied about the fact that Jaskier tried to grab his gun – because Jaskier would <em>never </em>do something as foolish as that – so why <em>wouldn’t </em>he lie about Jaskier being dead, just to hurt Geralt, just to taunt and play with him?</p>
<p>He turns away from the bloodstains, making his way to the dining room. Surely, other guards will be there, surely one of them will know what really happened to Jaskier.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Breakfast is winding to an end, and the dining room is nearly empty, save for a few tables where people are still chatting a bit. There’s a guard stationed by the door, luckily. He’s quite young, with pitch-black hair and sea-green eyes. Geralt’s seen this one before as well – though he’s seen every guard at some point, by now – and knows this one isn’t as prone to mistreating prisoners as other guards seem to be.</p>
<p>He looks at Geralt as he goes to stand in front of the guard. “Beckett, wasn’t it?”</p>
<p>The guard nods. “What’s the problem, inmate?” He doesn’t sound very annoyed or angry about the fact that a prisoner dares approach him and talk to him, which Geralt supposes is a good sign. If this man knows the truth, he’ll probably just tell Geralt.</p>
<p>“A friend of mine was shot last night. Do you know anything about that?” The guard narrows his eyes at Geralt, but nods. “Is he alive?”</p>
<p>Beckett opens his mouth to respond, but his sea-green eyes drift to something behind Geralt, and his mouth snaps shut again. Geralt turns around, and – for fuck’s sake – there’s the guard from before, the one that shot Jaskier, on the other side of the dining room. He’s glaring at the pair of them, his hand on his gun. Geralt turns back to Beckett, the man suddenly very pale, eyes wide and <em>scared, </em>even.</p>
<p>“Dead,” Beckett says, casting glances at the other guard. “He’s dead. Sorry for your loss. Now move along, inmate.”</p>
<p>Geralt narrows his eyes at Beckett – he doesn’t believe a single fucking word the man just said – but does as he’s told, anyways, making his way to his own cell, as he thinks.</p>
<p>So the guard that shot Jaskier- God, what’s his name again? James? Jones?</p>
<p><em>Johnson. </em>Geralt remembers, now. His name is Johnson.</p>
<p>So, Johnson has some sort of power over the other guards, clearly. Maybe it’s because he’s their senior, or the head of the guards, or just a real fucking asshole, but power he has. Meaning that there’s no way Geralt can really find out what happened from any of the guards. But… the fact that Johnson has to threaten other guards into telling Geralt that Jaskier is dead surely means that Jaskier’s <em>not </em>dead.</p>
<p>He finally reaches his cell, and lets himself fall down on his bed.</p>
<p>Or… well, maybe Jaskier <em>is </em>dead. Maybe Johnson just lied about the <em>reason</em> he shot Jaskier – yeah, no, he <em>definitely </em>lied about that – and maybe he’s threatening the other guards to keep them from telling Geralt about that. Maybe Jaskier is dead, and the guard doesn’t want anyone to find out why he did it.</p>
<p>There has to be some other way to find out, some other way he can know if Jaskier is dead or not.</p>
<p>He sits up in his bed, something suddenly coming to mind. <em>Jaskier’s cell. </em>He’s got personal stuff in there – his toothbrush, his clothes, the salve against bruises Mousesack once made for him. If he’s dead, then surely, the prison won’t just let that space sit there, unused, and will take away his personal stuff so someone else can be assigned to that cell. So as long as Jaskier’s stuff is still there, as long as Istredd doesn’t get a new cellmate, Geralt knows that Jaskier’s not dead.</p>
<p>He lets himself fall back again, grinning up at the ceiling, relief flooding his system. Jaskier’s alive, and his personal things are proof of that.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>At dinner, that evening, he finds out from Istredd that during the afternoon, two guards went into his cell and took away Jaskier’s stuff.</p>
<p>Istredd looks like hell, face sunken and ashen, his usually so alert eyes hazy and red-rimmed from crying. Geralt doesn’t blame him, of course, he had to watch Jaskier get dragged away, had to listen to him getting murdered and had to wait until morning to find out that what he heard really happened, that Jaskier really was killed- <em>No, </em>Geralt can’t let himself think like that, can’t let himself believe for even one second that Jaskier really died, that he really was murdered. Because he’s still alive. Jaskier’s still alive. He just has to hold on to that hope and wait. Eventually, Jaskier will come back to him, will return to the normal cell blocks.</p>
<p>He just has to hold on to hope.</p>
<p>Dinner passes quietly, barely anyone at the table uttering a word, everyone simply pushing food around on their plate, ashen-faced and tired and grieving. Except Geralt of course – he isn’t grieving, but he’s still worried. Even if Jaskier didn’t die from the initial gunshot wound, there’s still so many things that can happen. He can get an infection, he can get blood clots, he can suffer any number of complications, and die anyways.</p>
<p>But Geralt has to keep hoping. It’s the only thing he can do.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He spends the next few days trying to find every guard in the prison to ask them if Jaskier’s dead or not. Every single one of them tells him the same thing: yes, he’s dead. Some of them say that he was shot because he tried to take Johnson’s gun, others cast a quick glance around and, if no one else is nearby, lean in a bit and lower their voices to tell him Jaskier didn’t try to take Johnson’s gun, but he did try to escape, and Johnson shot him in panic. Geralt believes those guards over the other ones, even though they still tell him that yes, Jaskier did bleed out and die in that hallway, help came too late.</p>
<p>But he waits, every day, he waits and waits and waits, until he hears Jaskier’s voice behind him, as he makes his way to the library to bring in books he didn’t read, until he sees him in the hallway, as he turns a corner, until Istredd or Mousesack or anyone else comes up to him with a bright smile on their face to tell him that Jaskier just showed up again.</p>
<p>He waits, but that moment doesn’t come.</p>
<p>Eventually, as Geralt makes his way over to another guard to ask him if Jaskier’s truly dead, even though he’s asked the man that question twice already, Mousesack stops him with a gentle hand on his arm. Sad, grey eyes look up at Geralt, their familiar sparkle gone, and the older man shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Wolf,” he whispers. “It’s time to stop. He’s gone.” The hand tightens around his arm the slightest bit. “Jaskier’s dead. I know it’s hard to accept it, but-“</p>
<p>Geralt tears his arm from the older man’s grip, anger and fear flaring up in his chest. “No,” he grits through clenched teeth. “He’s alive. I <em>know </em>it.”</p>
<p>But the seed of doubt, once planted, doesn’t stop growing. He lies in his bed that night, about a week since Jaskier was shot, looking up at the ceiling.</p>
<p><em>What if… </em>his mind whispers to him. <em>What if. </em></p>
<p>What if Johnson isn’t lying? What if none of the guards are? After all, some told him the real reason as to why Jaskier was shot, so why would they still lie to him about Jaskier being dead? What if he did die, then? What if all this time that Geralt spent searching for a sign that Jaskier’s still alive was wasted effort? What if he should’ve been grieving instead? What if Jaskier really did bleed out in that hallway – alone and scared and in pain?</p>
<p>What if, what if<em>, what if?</em></p>
<p>The next day, Istredd gets assigned a new cellmate, and Geralt realizes, truly, really, for the first time in a week, that the higher-ups aren’t expecting Jaskier to come back. If they did, they wouldn’t have given his cell away like that. Which can only mean one thing.</p>
<p>Jaskier’s dead.</p>
<p>He’s actually dead. He’s not coming back. He’s gone.</p>
<p>But Geralt doesn’t cry, doesn’t scream, doesn’t punch the wall until his fists are bloody. He merely shuts down, spends his days as a ghost, an empty shell of the person he used to be. He still gets out of bed in the morning, still goes to breakfast, lunch, dinner, goes to the library and the gym, but his mind is no longer in it, his soul far, far away, distancing himself from the image of empty, blue eyes that forces itself upon him every time he blinks.</p>
<p>Istredd’s new cellmate introduces himself as Coën, but Geralt doesn’t bother with responding. Sure, this young man doesn’t seem so bad, but he sits in Jaskier’s seat, sleeps in Jaskier’s bed, his mere presence a reminder of what Geralt lost, and he can’t help but hate him for that, no matter how unfair it really is to Coën.</p>
<p>He goes to the library after lunch, to spend the afternoon looking at the shelves without registering the books sitting atop them, to borrow some books he’ll never read. The library is quiet, and usually, no one will bother him there.</p>
<p>He’s near the back now, his eyes unfocused, broken fluorescents flickering above his head. There’s a little book with a black spine among the bigger and brighter volumes, he now notices, though, and he looks- actually <em>looks, </em>for the first time in an hour.</p>
<p>It’s <em>The Picture of Dorian Gray. </em>He’s never read it, but Jaskier has. As a matter of fact, Jaskier once told him he only read it because Geralt had held it in his hands, when Jaskier saw him in the library, months ago, now. Geralt remembers. He looks to the left, to the spot Jaskier had been standing that day, face alight with a wide smile, hand extended.</p>
<p>“<em>Hi. I’m Jaskier,</em>” he had said, and Geralt realizes that’s the first time he ever met the younger man, even before Jaskier had sat at his table, a few days later. Slowly but surely, as he keeps staring at the spot, the memory replaying in his head, Jaskier’s ghost flickering in front of him in time with the broken fluorescents, his chest starts to ache. A dull pain, spreading through him, growing stronger with each passing second, like something heavy’s sitting on his chest- <em>the weight of Jaskier’s death, </em>he realizes. He doesn’t know why he’s only now starting to feel it, but he wishes he wouldn’t.</p>
<p>It hurts. It hurts so much.</p>
<p>“Rivia,” a voice sounds from his right, and he slowly turns his head, looking at the guard standing at the end of the shelves. “You’ve got a visitor.”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>It’s Saturday. He forgot it’s Saturday, with everything going on, and because he has no reason to keep track of what day it is, only how many days it’s been since Jaskier died.</p>
<p>Saturday is visitor’s day. He only remembers because a guard had told him when he’d first arrived at the prison, and because he spent the first month or so eagerly awaiting Saturday, hoping that someone would come visit him, then getting disappointed in the evening, when visitor’s hours ended and no one had showed up for him.</p>
<p>The second he starts to wonder who it’ll be, the person that’s visiting him, his mind whispers to him: <em>Jaskier. </em>He curses himself for foolishly getting his hopes up, despite the fact that he knows Jaskier’s dead, but his mind won’t listen, repeating the name over and over again as he makes his way to the front of the prison, to the visitor’s room.</p>
<p>He opens the door, and walks in, the noise of families talking to their loved ones overwhelming him for a split second. He scans the room, before his eyes land on a table in the corner, a lone man sitting at it, looking at him.</p>
<p>It’s Vesemir.</p>
<p>Geralt frowns, but weaves between the occupied tables, before sitting down across from his adoptive father. He didn’t expect it to be him – after all, he’s been in here for months, and Vesemir hasn’t visited him once. So why now? Why today?</p>
<p>“You look like hell,” is the first thing his adoptive father says to him, and Geralt looks at his own hands, intertwined on the table in front of him. The pain he felt in the library, the brittle and foolish hope he felt while making his way to the visitor’s room, both falling away again until he’s empty once more. All he feels now is fatigue. He’s so tired.</p>
<p>He shrugs. “Feel like hell.”</p>
<p>“Why? Is everything alright? Anything I can do to help?” He hears the genuine concern in Vesemir’s voice, but it doesn’t soothe him as it once might’ve. Now, it only serves to make him angry.</p>
<p>“You can <em>leave</em>.”</p>
<p>It’s quiet for a few seconds. “Geralt, if you’re angry that I didn’t visit you sooner, I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>He looks up at that, sees the remorse in his father’s eyes. It still doesn’t do much to make him feel better, but it doesn’t anger him further, either. He’s rarely ever heard Vesemir apologize, and the few times he did, his father had really meant it.</p>
<p>Vesemir looks at him for a second or so, and continues when Geralt doesn’t speak. “I have no excuse. I was… angry, and ashamed. I know it wasn’t my place to be, but… you were such a troubled child when I first met you, and I knew that… that there was a chance that, if I didn’t do my job right, you might turn to drugs, or guns, or the wrong type of people.”</p>
<p>Geralt nods before he can stop himself. He knows he wasn’t the easiest, growing up, knows he was aggressive and acted out and was well on his way to ending up in juvenile. But he didn’t, because Vesemir gave him a home, and ways to manage his anger, and helped him to do well in school. He remembers the first time Vesemir took him to the gym, two blocks from their house, and introduced him to boxing. He remembers the long evenings spent at the dinner table, as Vesemir taught him the stuff he missed in school because he’d skipped so many classes. He remembers the first time Vesemir had looked at him with disappointment in his eyes, when Geralt had punched another kid, and he remembers how ashamed he’d felt, remembers the need to do better, <em>be</em> better, because he could not bear that disappointment again.</p>
<p>“So, when you ended up in here,” Vesemir continues, wiping a hand over his face before looking away. “I felt like it was my fault, like I… I fucked up.” He furrows his brow. “I guess…”</p>
<p>He heaves a heavy sigh, and Geralt waits patiently for him to speak again. He knows this is hard for Vesemir – his father’s never been one to convey his emotions very well, and Geralt isn’t, either, so he understands his struggle.</p>
<p>“I guess,” Vesemir continues, “I was ashamed. Of myself. For failing you.”</p>
<p>Geralt sighs softly. “You didn’t fail me,” he says, and he startles slightly at how flat his voice sounds, especially compared to Vesemir’s. “It wasn’t your fault. You did everything right.”</p>
<p>It’s quiet between them for a while, as Geralt stares at his hands, intertwined on the table, and Vesemir looks at the other families, chatting loudly. Before soon, he looks back at Geralt, frowning in worry again. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”</p>
<p>Geralt snorts without mirth. When he thinks about it, he <em>has </em>barely slept in days, his mind too occupied with Jaskier and trying to prove that he’s alive, before finally accepting that he really is dead. The grief hits him like a sack of bricks again, and he leans forward, hiding his face behind the curtain of his hair as tears gather in his eyes.</p>
<p>“I… <em>Baba, </em>I fucked up.” Vesemir shifts, leaning forward as well – Geralt only ever uses <em>baba </em>when something’s really, really wrong. He used it when he was younger, during thunderstorms, when he would crawl into Vesemir’s bed, scared beyond words. He used it all those times he cried, wondering why his mother left him at the train station, why she didn’t want him. He used it all those times he was scared of the future, worrying about whether he would be able to finish school, whether he could leave his past behind him.</p>
<p>He only ever uses it when his life is falling apart around him.</p>
<p>“Tell me what’s wrong, pup. What did you do?”</p>
<p>He’s shaking with the effort of holding in his sobs, now, and he’s grateful that Vesemir chose the table in his corner, like he always does, that he’s got his back to the rest of the room, that he’s able to hide his face behind his hair. “I- I fell in love.” It’s the first time he’s ever admitted that out loud.</p>
<p>Vesemir’s hands appear in his field of vision, cradling Geralt’s softly. “And why is that bad, Geralt? Talk to me.”</p>
<p>The trembling only worsens, and he can feel a few tears starting to spill over. His entire world is shaking, the foundations of him crumbling apart bit by bit. He can’t bear the grief anymore, can’t bear the loss, the glaring absence in his life.</p>
<p>“Pup, talk to me, what’s the matter?”</p>
<p>He sobs, softly, not even his father’s presence able to soothe him anymore. “He… he died,” he manages to choke out.</p>
<p>He hears Vesemir let out a soft sight, before he feels a hand around his neck, his father pressing their heads together gently. “I’m sorry to hear that. May he have found peace in death.”</p>
<p>They sit like that for a while, Geralt’s hurt running down his face, falling on the table in quiet <em>drip drip </em>drips, Vesemir’s thumb rubbing soft circles into the back of his neck. Eventually, his tears dry, his mind becoming blank and empty once again, and he leans back, wiping at his face.</p>
<p>Vesemir sighs again. “So how long until you get out of here?”</p>
<p>Geralt shrugs. “A month or so.”</p>
<p>“Do you know where he’s been buried?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head, curling in on himself slightly. It hurts, thinking of visiting Jaskier’s grave, but he’d give anything to be able to go there, to lay flowers down for him. It’s the least he can do.</p>
<p>Vesemir nods. “Right. I’ll see if I can find out.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he whispers, standing up when his father does. “For everything, baba, thank you.” Vesemir pulls him to his chest in a brief but tight hug.</p>
<p>“Take care of yourself, pup.”</p>
<p>“Will do.” His father nods at him one more time, and then he’s gone, weaving his way between the other tables towards the exit. Geralt turns around, leaving the room as well, making his way to his cell. Strangely enough, he feels a little lighter – still not better, but no longer as though the pressure on his chest is about to make his ribcage cave in. But he’s still tired, so, so tired, and he feels like he’ll never be able to chase that fatigue away.</p>
<p>So be it, then.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>A few days later, he’s walking to the library again, two unread books under his arm. He still feels tired, still feels empty. He’s stopped keeping tracks of how many days it’s been since Jaskier died – there’s no point in counting if there’s nothing to count <em>to. </em></p>
<p>The gaping hole Jaskier left in his life, in his heart, is still palpable, still hurting. He doesn’t know what to do with his time anymore, his every waking thought filled with memories of Jaskier. Sometimes, he looks to his left at the dinner table to say something to Jaskier, but finds Coën instead. Or he turns around in the library to show Jaskier a book he might like, only to see empty air.</p>
<p>He’s tired. So, so tired. And he feels like he’ll never be happy again.</p>
<p>He hears footsteps on the linoleum floor behind him, but he pays no mind to it. Just another inmate, making his way to the library, as well. Except they speed up, getting closer and closer and-</p>
<p>“Geralt!”</p>
<p>He stills at that painfully familiar voice. <em>It can’t be. </em>He turns around, heart hammering in his chest, breath caught in his throat. He distantly hears the clatter of the books as they fall on the floor, his arms suddenly limp. <em>It can’t be. </em></p>
<p>And yet, it is.</p>
<p>“Jaskier,” he breathes out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yay! Jaskier's not dead! (But we been knew)<br/>Also I'm on tumblr, @queen-squish!</p>
<p>Again, please don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!<br/>1 comment = 1 break for Geralt (and for Jaskier, by extension)<br/>(also 1 comment = 1 very very happy author)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, oh my god, I'm so sorry for the long wait for this chapter! I come bearing Excuses!<br/>Excuse nr. 1: I had an internship last week. I thought I wouldn't be too tired to write fic after work, but I Was Wrong. I had a lot of fun and slept like a baby, though, so I regret absolutely nothing.<br/>Excuse nr. 2: This predates the internship, but got worse afterwards. I have fallen ill! I don't know what it is, and neither does the doctor, but we're trying to find it out. Probably just a stomach flu or something. Press F to pay respects.</p><p>Anyways, time for Fluff. (Also an extra long chapter to express how sorry I am it took so long)</p><p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He quickly loses track of how many days he’s spent in the hospital – which really wouldn’t be such a problem, usually, if it hadn’t been for the startling realization he’d gotten shortly after he’d arrived. Now, he can’t wait to get the hell out of here as soon as possible, go back to the prison, find Geralt, and kiss him until his breath is stolen from his lungs – with Geralt’s permission, of course. Though, if he’s right about his Wolf loving him, then he’s sure he’ll get that permission.</p><p>But that’s the thing, still. Yes, Jaskier’s 99 percent sure that Geralt loves him, but there’s always that 1 percent, isn’t there? Maybe he interpreted things wrong, maybe he ignored some obvious signs that Geralt <em>doesn’t </em>love him, maybe his Wolf is just being polite and thinks of Jaskier as no more than a friend, and Jaskier’s just a hopeless romantic who sees things that aren’t really there. So yes, while he is <em>fairly</em> sure, he is also not <em>entirely </em>sure, and it’s setting him on edge.</p><p>It doesn’t help that he’s chained to the bed, most of the time, only freed if he has to go to the bathroom, or has to shower, or is put in the chair in the corner of the room. That means that, whenever he’s alone, he’s bound to the bed, which is an absolute nightmare. He can’t release his pent-up energy by pacing around the room, like he’ll usually do when he’s nervous or excited about something. He can’t really do anything besides watch tv, or look out the window, or sleep.</p><p>Still, it’s a hell of a lot better than solitary. But then again, almost everything is.</p><p>About a week and a half after he got shot, he’s finally discharged from the hospital. Some prison guards show up, load him into a van, and drive him back to the prison.</p><p>The ride back is about an hour long, and Jaskier spends the entire time looking out of the window, watching the woods around the hospital make way for suburban streets, before they drive through the city centre. Jaskier watches people live their lives, laughing and chatting together as they shop, or hurrying along the sidewalk in suits, on their way to work, phone held to their ear. It’s strange to see the world moving on outside the prison walls, and he realizes with startling clarity that if he <em>had </em>died in that hallway, nearly two weeks ago, the world still would’ve moved on all the same. Of course, he already knew that, but to really <em>see </em>and <em>realize </em>it, is something else entirely.</p><p>Slowly, but surely, the bustling streets make way for quiet, suburban neighbourhoods again, and before long, they turn onto the large parking lot in front of the prison. They lead him outside, into the crisp autumn morning, and Jaskier stretches his neck, looking at the windows, trying to see if he can find Geralt there. But he’s out of luck – he can’t spot a familiar head of white hair. It doesn’t matter, he supposes, hopefully he’ll see Geralt soon, anyways.</p><p>Walking to the prison side entrance isn’t entirely pleasant – the gunshot wound still hurts, and his right lung aches with every breath of cold air. It’ll heal, of course, but that knowledge doesn’t make the pain any less, right now.</p><p>The large, metal door closes behind him with a soft click, and he’s led through the familiar halls of the prison, towards the main office. He frowns. Strange that they would lead him to the office, instead of to his cell, but it also makes sense – there are probably some things that need to be discussed, like the planted drugs, and the fact that he got shot, or what-fucking-ever. He bites on the inside of his cheek, anxious to have this whole ordeal over with, so he can just go find Geralt, finally.</p><p>Eventually, they stop in front of a wooden door, with a plaque on it that reads ‘<em>director De Vries’. </em>Jaskier frowns again. <em>So this goes all the way to the top. Strange. </em>Surely a prisoner hiding drugs in their cell doesn’t warrant this much attention from the <em>prison director, </em>of all people, right? And yes, maybe Johnson shooting him does, but why would they still need to talk to Jaskier, then?</p><p>It doesn’t really make that much sense, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot as one of the guards behind him knocks on the door, nervousness coiling in his belly like a snake, ready to strike.</p><p>He hears a woman call a “come in” from inside the office, and one of the guards opens the door, pushing Jaskier across the threshold. He looks around the modest office – no more than a desk, some chairs, and walls filled with filing cabinets. The woman behind the desk is just as small as the room is, though her presence weighs heavily on Jaskier – even if he hadn’t seen the plaque on the door, he still would’ve known she’s someone of great importance.</p><p>She gestures with her hand to the chairs, and Jaskier sits down, hands still bound behind his back. One of the guards steps into the room also, closing the door behind him, the other presumably going back to his normal job of pushing prisoners around and yelling at them.</p><p>The woman doesn’t bother looking at him, as she continues typing something on her laptop, the silence in the room stretching on and on until it’s almost unbearably uncomfortable. Finally, she clicks her mouse a few times, before looking at Jaskier, her grey eyes steely and judgemental, making him shift in his chair a bit.</p><p>“Pankratz.”</p><p>Jaskier presses his lips together and nods, looking away. “That’s me,” he mutters.</p><p>“Twelve days ago guard Martin Johnson found a bag of weed in your cell. Do you deny that?”</p><p>“No, but-“</p><p>“And afterwards he tried to bring you to solitary. Do you deny that?”</p><p>“No-“</p><p>“And he failed to do so because you tried to escape, and he shot you. Do you deny that?”</p><p>“Well-“</p><p>“<em>Do you deny that?</em>”</p><p>He sighs, sagging in the chair a bit. “No,” he whispers, eyes on his shoes.</p><p>“Look at me when I speak to you, Pankratz.” He reluctantly lifts his gaze up, meeting her steely eyes. She nods, seemingly satisfied, and types a few things on her laptop, before looking back at him. Something in her eyes softens, though, and Jaskier frowns. “We know the drugs weren’t yours.”</p><p>He blinks, sitting up straight, cold shock and relief flooding through him. “What? How-“</p><p>“There was more than one guard in your cell that night, Pankratz. Three other witnesses saw him planting those drugs. Fingerprint analysis confirms their statements.” She turns back to her laptop, once again typing a few things. “He will face the consequences of what he’s done.”</p><p>Jaskier sighs in relief, his chest suddenly feeling so much lighter. “Thank you-“</p><p>“But so will you.”</p><p>He blinks. “What?”</p><p>She clicks her mouse a few times. “Yes, you were being brought to solitary for unsubstantiated reasons, but the CCTV clearly shows you trying to fight a guard off. Obviously, we can’t let that go without consequences.”</p><p>He sighs, but nods. It makes sense, really, and he should’ve seen it coming. And, more importantly, whatever punishment he may suffer for this, it won’t be nearly half as bad as what would’ve happened if they didn’t know the drugs weren’t his, if Johnson would’ve gotten away with it.</p><p>“A month extra,” De Vries says, looking Jaskier right in the eyes, and he resists the urge to say ‘that’s it?’. Because yes, while a month extra in prison isn’t ideal, it’s not as terrible as he expected. It’s just a month, it’ll pass before he even knows it. And <em>yes</em>, while that does mean that Geralt will probably get out before he does, it’s not the end of the world. His Wolf can still <em>visit </em>him, can still <em>call</em> him. And hell, most of the wankers aren’t due to get out for <em>years</em>, so it’s not like he’ll be alone anyways.</p><p>He suddenly notices that De Vries is still looking at him, and he shifts in his chair a bit. “Thank you for being so merciful, director De Vries.” She looks away, and he swears he sees her roll her eyes, but the moment is over as soon as he notices it.</p><p>“Right. One last thing, Pankratz. Guard Johnson transferred you to a different cell, last week.” She looks at him. “Don’t ask me why. I don’t know, either. But your cell has been given away, and your personal items will be brought to your new cell, 94A. That’s everything for now. Dismissed.”</p><p>The guard that had been standing by the door grabs Jaskier’s arm, hauling him up and out of the office. Once the door has closed behind them, the man unlocks the cuffs around Jaskier’s wrists, taking them off before turning around and walking away without another word.</p><p><em>Right. </em>So he supposes that’s it, then. A month extra, a new cell, and a healing gunshot wound. All in all, not that bad of an outcome, given how hopeless things had looked twelve days ago. He turns around, contemplating where he should go, now, where he’s most likely to find Geralt.</p><p>He supposes Geralt will be in the library – because he almost always is, really. Well, either there or in the prison yard, but it’s a bit too cold to go outside, honestly. So, he takes the hallway to his right, making his way to the library, every step quicker than the last, heart starting to race in his chest. He wants nothing more than to see Geralt again, to hold him close and never let go.</p><p>It’s strangely quiet in the halls, and when he passes a clock on the wall, he sees why: it’s lunchtime. Which means that everyone must be in the dining room, by now.</p><p>He frowns, stopping in his tracks. Does that mean he should head there, too? He <em>is</em> more likely to find Geralt there, at this hour. But he also doesn’t want an audience to their reunion.</p><p>He turns around, though, looking back the way he came, the way to the dining room. Maybe he should wait until lunch is over, maybe he should try to find Geralt then. But something also tells him that he <em>shouldn’t</em> do that, that he should go to the library right now, as his original plan had been.</p><p>He sighs, turning back around, and starts walking again, to the library.</p><p>He rounds a corner, and lo and behold, he spots a familiar head of white hair. Jaskier almost cries in relief, and picks up his pace, intending to surprise Geralt from behind, but his lung still doesn’t really cooperate, and before soon, he’s out of breath and in pain. “Geralt!”</p><p>His Wolf freezes, slowly turning around, face open and vulnerable and disbelieving and <em>hurt, </em>and Jaskier wonders what the fuck happened while he was gone. The books clatter to the floor, Geralt’s arms suddenly limp, mouth slightly agape, familiar amber eyes wide and wet.</p><p>Jaskier takes a few steps forward, opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything, Geralt runs forward, pulling Jaskier into a crushing hug that knocks the breath out of his lungs. He doesn’t waste time returning the hug, holding Geralt almost as tightly as Geralt’s holding him.</p><p>“Hello,” he whispers into his Wolf’s shoulder, who laughs softly, pressing his nose into Jaskier’s neck. It’s only a few seconds until he feels tears against his skin, until he feels Geralt sobbing quietly. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” he whispers. “What’s the matter, my Wolf?”</p><p>Geralt’s arms tighten around him the slightest bit, breath shuddering and warm against Jaskier’s neck. He mumbles something into his shoulder, and Jaskier pushes him back slightly.</p><p>“What was that?”</p><p>“I- I thought you were dead,” Geralt whispers against his shirt, voice breaking on the last word, a new round of sobs wracking through his body, and Jaskier pulls him closer again.</p><p><em>Oh, God. </em>He hadn’t thought about the fact that Geralt wouldn’t know what happened to him, hadn’t realized what conclusion he would draw from Istredd’s story, the pool of blood in the hallway, and Jaskier’s continuing absence – because there’s no doubt that the guards hadn’t told them anything.</p><p>“It’s okay,” he says softly. “I’m okay. I’m right here, my Wolf.” Without second thought, he presses a gentle kiss to the side of Geralt’s neck, earning him a mouthful of silver hair. He splutters a bit, trying to get it off his tongue as best as possible, while Geralt chuckles softly. “That didn’t go according to plan, did it?”</p><p>Geralt shakes his head into Jaskier’s shoulder, and Jaskier lifts a hand to wipe the hair from his Wolf’s forehead, trailing down his cheek to lift the tears from his cheeks.</p><p>“But then again,” he whispers. “Nothing ever really goes according to plan.”</p><p>Geralt pulls back a bit, eyes red-rimmed and glazed over but brighter and happier than Jaskier’s ever seen them. “Jaskier, I love you.” He says it quickly, as if the words have been knocked out of his chest, and Jaskier can see a faint blush rising up his neck. “I love you, more than anything. I love you.”</p><p>Jaskier’s eyes follow the movement of his own hand as he wipes more hair off of Geralt’s forehead, fingertips trailing down soft skin before his palm settles against Geralt’s cheek. Finally, he meets amber eyes again, wide and pleading and Jaskier’s chest <em>aches </em>with the weight of his love.</p><p>“I know,” he whispers. He smiles lightly, feeling a bit light-headed, as if the world has suddenly tilted on its axis, righting itself where it once was off-balance, the pieces of every moment of his life leading up until this one finally falling together, clicking into place gently. But the hall is the same as it’s always been, the light shining through the windows is the same as it’s always been, the sounds of people in the distance, the linoleum floor, the dust hanging in the air, the books still strewn on the floor a few feet away – all the same as it’s always been.</p><p>Nothing’s changed. Yet everything has.</p><p>“I know,” he whispers again, before leaning forward and kissing Geralt gently, softly, sweetly. A feather-light touch, a moment in time, a promise of something more. Not enough yet too much all the same. “I know,” he whispers again and again and again, as he kisses every part of Geralt’s face his lips can find – his nose, his cheekbones, between where Jaskier’s fingers are still splayed on his cheek.</p><p>Eventually, Geralt ducks his head to meet him halfway, teeth gently grazing against Jaskier’s bottom lip as he lightly sucks on it, and it’s soothing yet overwhelming and it’s everything he’s ever wished for and more.</p><p>Eventually, he breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against Geralt’s, their combined breaths intertwining between them as they stand in each other’s embrace.</p><p>Jaskier sighs softly, pressing his nose against the underside of Geralt’s jaw, and he notes somewhere in the back of his mind that he smells like pinetrees and soap. “I love you, too, you know.”</p><p>Geralt laughs softly, pulling Jaskier ever closer, almost teetering on the edge of painful, before he sighs as well. “I figured as much. I’m glad you’re not dead.”</p><p>Jaskier can’t help but grin. “I’m glad I’m not dead, too.” For the first time in weeks – months, even – he, lets himself relax fully, melting into the embrace, Geralt’s warmth seeping into his skin, as the world finally rights itself.</p><p>---</p><p>Eventually, they have to let go, have to take a step back – no matter how painful it is to do so – when lunchtime ends and they hear footsteps in the distance. Geralt picks the books up, carefully smoothing down the slightly bent pages as Jaskier plasters himself to his Wolf’s side. After all, just because he has to let go for now, doesn’t mean he can bear to be too far away.</p><p>Together, they walk to the library. Jaskier tells Geralt about the time he spent at the hospital, even though there’s not much to tell – but Geralt looks so happy, just listening to him, so Jaskier digs through his memory to recall every single detail, tries to find every single side-track his mind can think of, just so he can keep talking and can keep Geralt happy.</p><p>They do separate a bit when they finally walk into the library. There’s just no telling how people might react to public displays of affection. Still, Jaskier keeps his hand close to Geralt’s, brushing their fingers together every chance he gets.</p><p>Back in the hallway, he risks taking Geralt’s hand fully, since there’s no one around anyways. “So, what happened while I was gone?”</p><p>Geralt frowns, a flash of hurt crossing his face. “Well, I thought you were dead. Everyone did.” He frowns. “We mourned you, you know.”</p><p>Jaskier stops walking, pulls gently at their intertwined hands to get Geralt to stop as well. His Wolf turns towards him, face open and vulnerable and so <em>hurt </em>it physically pains Jaskier to look at him. He raises his other hand to gently cup the side of Geralt’s neck, thumb running along the underside of his jaw.</p><p>“Geralt, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that you had to go through that, that you had to think I was <em>dead </em>all this time, only for me to turn up like nothing happened. I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Geralt’s hand comes up to gently grasp Jaskier’s wrist, turning his face to press a soft kiss against his palm. “It’s not your fault, Jaskier.”</p><p>He sighs. “It is, though.” He runs the pads of his fingers along Geralt’s cheekbone softly. “I provoked Johnson, which caused him to plant the drugs. <em>And </em>I tried to fight him off, leading to him shooting me. It <em>is</em> my fault.”</p><p>Geralt frowns, hand tightening around Jaskier’s wrist slightly, a reassuring pressure against his skin. “It’s <em>not</em> your fault. <em>He </em>planted the drugs, <em>he </em>shot you, <em>he </em>told me you were dead and threatened every guard into telling me the same thing. <em>He’s </em>responsible for his own actions, not you.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns, cold shock washing over him. “He did <em>what?”</em></p><p>Geralt looks away, face solemn and sad. “He told everyone you were dead and threatened the other guards into saying the same thing.”</p><p>Jaskier scoffs, his surprise making way for white-hot anger. “I’m gonna kill him,” he whispers, heartbeat loud in his own ears. “I don’t care that they caught him, I’m gonna find him and kill him my-goddamn-self.”</p><p>Geralt tugs at his arm slightly to draw his attention away from the murder plans. “Wait, what do you mean ‘they caught him’?”</p><p>He pushes his anger away, taking a few steadying breaths, willing himself to calm down. “I- they brought me to the prison director earlier. She said that they know that he planted the drugs and stuff, and she said he’s ‘facing the consequences’.” He pulls a face. “Whatever that means.”</p><p>Geralt smiles, the sight of it enough to steal Jaskier’s breath away, and he can’t help but lean forward and kiss his Wolf softly. It’s the sweetest of curses, the knowledge that he’ll never get enough of this.</p><p>“So does that mean you’re still due to get out in a month?” his Wolf asks against his lips, and Jaskier pulls back, frowning.</p><p>“Well, no.” Geralt’s smile falls. “I get a month extra for trying to escape when he was taking me to solitary, so…”</p><p>Geralt looks disappointed, but nods, before he turns and starts walking down the hall again, their hands intertwined between them. “Well, I guess it’s just a month.” He looks at Jaskier, smiling again. “And I can still visit you. And I can…” He’s suddenly quiet, eyes wide as if he’s had some sort of realization or brilliant idea.</p><p>Jaskier squints. “What? What are you thinking about, my Wolf?”</p><p>Geralt grins, shaking his head. “Nothing.”</p><p>Jaskier’s a hundred percent sure it’s not <em>nothing, </em>but he’s distracted by a familiar figure, at the end of the hallway. It’s Istredd. His back is turned towards Jaskier, and he’s talking with a tall, bald man right outside Jaskier’s old cell. The stranger quickly glances at Jaskier and Geralt and frowns, but focuses on Istredd again.</p><p>Istredd, on the other hand, does seem to notice that the man was distracted by something, and looks over his shoulder, eyes growing wide when he sees Jaskier.</p><p>Jaskier grins, spreading his arms dramatically. “I lived, bitch!” He shouts, earning him a few strange looks from other inmates that are walking through the hall.</p><p>Istredd lets out an incredulous laugh, face falling for a split second before reality seems to truly set in, and he starts laughing again, bordering on just the wrong side of maniacally, as he slumps against the wall, hand on his chest. Jaskier walks towards him, lets his friend pull him into a crushing hug.</p><p>“Christ, man, what the fuck?”</p><p>He pulls back, holding Istredd at an arm’s length as Geralt hovers behind him, the stranger looking very confused.</p><p>“Well, like I said, I lived.”</p><p>Istredd snorts again, smile so wide it almost looks painful. “You son of a bitch. I mourned you! We all mourned you! And then you turn up here like some kinda Jesus, and you’re like ‘surprise! I’m not dead!’? I can’t believe you, man, I can’t wait for the others to find out.” His smile suddenly falls, as he looks Jaskier up and down. “You got shot, though, I <em>heard </em>you getting shot!”</p><p>Jaskier shrugs, patting the bandages that cover the hole in the right side of his chest. “I did. And I lived.” The stranger clears his throat, drawing Jaskier’s attention. He frowns, extending his hand – even though he’s very much not supposed to do that, here. “Hi, I’m Jaskier. I almost died.”</p><p>The stranger smiles weakly, shaking Jaskier’s hand. “Coën. I think I live in your old cell, now.”</p><p>He nods. “Oh, yeah, they did mention that it had been given away.” He shrugs. “No worries, though-“ he bumps his shoulder into Istredd’s “-glad to be rid of him.”</p><p>Istredd rolls his eyes, giving him a playful shove back. “At least <em>Coën </em>doesn’t snore as much as you do. And he doesn’t have to get up at three in the morning to go to work. <em>And </em>he doesn’t agitate guards who burst into my cell in the middle of the night, plant drugs, and then shoot him.”</p><p>Coën and Geralt tense up, but Jaskier laughs, the movement of it hurting his chest a bit. “Alright, fair enough.” He looks at the clock. “Right, nearly time for dinner, which means it’s time to break the <em>big news </em>to the other wankers.”</p><p>Istredd nods solemnly, a sparkle in his eyes. “Time to tell them you’re pregnant, yes.”</p><p>Jaskier sighs mournfully, splaying his hand against his stomach. “If only I knew who the father is.”</p><p>Istredd rolls his eyes, looking at Geralt, whose ears go pink when everyone’s attention suddenly focuses on him. “I think we already know who the father is,” Istredd mutters, and Jaskier laughs, before looking at Geralt again, intertwining their fingers.</p><p>“Fair enough,” he mutters. He starts walking again, pulling his Wolf along with him, Istredd and Coën following closely behind. “Alright, time to go.”</p><p>---</p><p>Obviously, the others take the fact that he’s alive pretty well. Yarpen laughs heartily and claps him on the back once, before turning back to his dinner, a satisfied grin on his face. Vil hugs him tightly for a minute or so, face bright and eyes teary when he finally pulls away. Mousesack just cries a lot and hugs him for a long time as well, grey eyes straying to Jaskier again and again during the rest of the evening.</p><p>At one point, Jaskier lets himself sag, leaning his head against Geralt’s shoulder. He looks up when he hears Vil’s voice: “So, you two a thing, now?”</p><p>Jaskier looks at Geralt. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous and assume that Geralt’s fine with the others knowing about their relationship – because he <em>does</em> assume they’re in a relationship, now – and waits for Geralt to speak.</p><p>Geralt nods, smiling softly at Jaskier, who can’t help but return the smile, something warm and fuzzy growing in his chest. “Yeah, we are,” his Wolf whispers, eliciting both soft groans and cheers of excitement from the rest of the group. Not really the reaction he was expecting, but no one seems opposed, so he’s not complaining.</p><p>“Wait, so if Jaskier’s not dead, does that mean the bet’s on again?” he hears Istredd whisper, and he sees Mousesack nod. He sits up straight again, frowning when he sees his friends exchanging cash.</p><p>“Wait, what the fuck?”</p><p>Mousesack looks at him, smiling softly. “We made a bet, a while after you two started talking and acting all…” he waves his hand a bit, rechannelling the movement into reaching for a few bills Yarpen’s handing him “…love-sick around each other.” He pockets he cash. “Istredd and I bet that you two <em>would</em> end up together before one of you got out of here, Yarpen and Vil bet that you <em>wouldn’t</em>.” He shrugs. “Istredd and I won, I guess.”</p><p>Jaskier rolls his eyes, fondness mixing with his annoyance. “You guys are the worst. Don’t you think, Coën?”</p><p>Coën startles slightly from where he’s been watching the events unfold with an amused smile on his face, suddenly the centre of attention. “I… I- uh…”</p><p>Vil shakes his head. “Come on, dude, don’t put him on the spot like that, he’s too shy to be mean to us.”</p><p>Jaskier reaches past Geralt to slightly push at Coën’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just messing with you.”</p><p>Geralt uses the fact that Jaskier’s suddenly so close to him to press a soft kiss to his lips, and Jaskier grins as groans of annoyance rise from the rest of the group.</p><p>---</p><p>They find out after dinner that Jaskier’s new cell, 94A, is also Geralt’s cell. He’s over the moon as he brushes his teeth and pulls on his pyjamas, practically vibrating as he finally crawls under the covers, Geralt only a few feet away on the other side of the cell.</p><p>They talk about nothing and everything as they wait for the guards to count everyone and eventually- <em>finally </em>turn off the lights. After that, he waits half an hour longer, just to make sure the prison really has settled in for the night.</p><p>Then, he whispers into the dark: “Can I sleep in your bed, Geralt?”</p><p>He practically hears the smile in his Wolf’s voice. “It’s not a very big bed.”</p><p><em>It’s not a no, </em>Jaskier decides as he throws the covers off, crossing the cell and nearly falling over when his shins hit the side of Geralt’s bed. “I don’t care.”</p><p>He hears a soft laugh and the rustling of sheets, before he feels a hand around his wrist, pulling him down. “Come on,” Geralt whispers, and Jaskier drapes himself across his Wolf’s chest, his head under Geralt’s chin, their legs twined together, a steady heartbeat under his cheek.</p><p>Geralt pulls the covers over them, sighing contentedly as he wraps his arms around Jaskier, a comforting weight on his back.</p><p>“We’re gonna have to be careful not to get caught tomorrow morning,” Geralt whispers to him, his warm breath fanning against Jaskier’s hair.</p><p>Jaskier sighs, burying his face into Geralt’s chest, sleep pulling at his limbs, warmth enveloping him. “’S a problem for tomorrow,” he mutters, and Geralt chuckles softly, the vibrations of it tickling against Jaskier’s skin, and he can’t help but smile.</p><p>“A problem for tomorrow, then,” Geralt whispers back. Jaskier nods, his eyes falling shut as he lets himself relax fully. He’s not worried about the guards catching them in the morning – something tells him they don’t care that much, and won’t feel forced to take action, now that Johnson is finally gone. In fact, he’s not worried about much anymore, now that he’s here with Geralt. It doesn’t matter that he’s gotta be here a month longer, or that he still won’t have a stable job once he’s out of here.</p><p>He has Geralt, and that’s all that matters.</p><p>Slowly, softly, he lets Geralt’s deep, steady breaths lull him to sleep, and for the first time in years, he feels truly happy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's a fluff party, baby, and I ain't planning on stopping anytime soon!<br/>Also I'm on tumblr, @queen-squish!</p><p>Again, please don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!<br/>1 comment = 1 hhhhhhhhhh soft kiss<br/>(also 1 comment = 1 very very happy author)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! I know it's been a long while since I updated this fic - don't worry, I haven't forgotten about it, it's just that I've been sick for a while (which turned out to be celiac disease, no more gluten for me), and uni's started again, which is taking a lot of my energy, AND I'm doing whumptober because I like to hurt myself by forcing myself to write a whole-ass fic every day. </p>
<p>So trust me, I'm still very much working on this one, just not as much as I used to. Also, this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but I figured better something than nothing, right?</p>
<p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following days are surprisingly happy ones. Sure, he’s still in prison, and he’s recovering from getting shot, and the guards still bother him and the others sometimes – but it’s a stark contrast with the abuse they suffered when Johnson was still there. Hell, it’s almost peaceful, even, and he could swear that some days, he’s <em>content.</em></p>
<p>He spends his mornings working in the kitchen again, even though Geralt tells him that’s not necessary, and he shouldn’t exert himself while he’s still recovering just for a few bucks, but Jaskier likes to keep busy. In the afternoons, he joins the others in the library, or in one of the common rooms, or he takes a walk outside in the cold prison garden with Geralt, the frosted grass crunching under their feet. More often than not, on those afternoons, he finds himself tucked under Geralt’s arm, smiling up at him as he tries to coax his Wolf into talking more about his childhood or what he likes to do in his spare time – when he’s not in prison, of course – or just generally anything there is to say about him.</p>
<p>It’s quiet, and it’s peaceful, and he’s <em>happy.</em></p>
<p>In the evenings, he always joins Geralt on his too-small bed, sprawled over his Wolf, Geralt’s arms around him to make sure he doesn’t fall off. Sometimes they talk some more, sometimes they don’t, content in each other’s embrace, the silence sleepy and comfortable.</p>
<p>And, as the days grow shorter and the nights longer, he realizes that he doesn’t dread winter as much as he once used to.</p>
<p>But a month passes oh so quickly, and before he knows it, he’s laying on top of Geralt’s chest, late in the evening, hot tears spilling down his cheeks as he realizes this is their last night together.</p>
<p>Geralt sighs softly, scratching his blunt fingernails through the small hairs at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, the other a comforting weight at the small of his back. “It’s alright, Jaskier. It’s just a month.”</p>
<p>He hiccups, burying his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck. “I know.” He sniffles, hand tightening around the fabric of his Wolf’s shirt. “I <em>know. </em>It’s just… I’m gonna miss you.”</p>
<p>Geralt presses a soft kiss to the side of his head. “I know. I’m gonna miss you too. But I’ll visit every Saturday, and I’ll call as often as possible. I can ask Vesemir to come, too, so that you two can meet.”</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs softly, a new bout of tears threatening to spill over. “Oh, so we’re at the ‘meeting the parents’-stage of our relationship, now, huh?”</p>
<p>Geralt tenses minutely beneath him, and if Jaskier hadn’t been plastered to him, he wouldn’t have noticed. “I mean, only if you want to. If that’s alright with you. You don’t have to, it’s no rush, and you shouldn’t feel pressured-“</p>
<p>Jaskier cuts off his ramblings. “No, I want to.” He rests his chin on Geralt’s shoulder, looking at his Wolf from the corner of his eye. “What did he say when he found out I was alive, again?”</p>
<p>Geralt grins at the ceiling. “Well, first he said a lot of very colourful words that would’ve even made Lambert blush.”</p>
<p>“And Lambert is your younger brother, right?”</p>
<p>“Hmm. And then he said: ‘Well, I better hope this works out between you two, because if he breaks your heart like that again, I’m dusting off my shotgun.’”</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs, burying his face in Geralt’s shoulder, before the sound can alert the guards. “Honestly, if I break your heart like that again, I probably deserve what’s coming to me.”</p>
<p>“Don’t say that,” Geralt mutters. “You would never deserve that.”</p>
<p>He smiles, pressing a soft kiss beneath the line of Geralt’s jaw. “I was just joking, love.”</p>
<p>It’s quiet for a while, and he sighs as the reality starts to sink in once again, fresh tears glazing over his eyes. Geralt shifts when Jaskier sniffles, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back. “It’s just a month, Jask. It’ll be over before you know it.”</p>
<p>“No, it won’t,” he whispers.</p>
<p>Geralt sighs. “Okay, maybe it won’t. But…” Jaskier can almost hear the gears grinding in Geralt’s head. “But we’ll make it worth the wait, how about that? The evening you get out, we’ll go to a fancy restaurant and then we’ll… we’ll…”</p>
<p>“We’ll stargaze,” Jaskier whispers, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “On the roof of your apartment.”</p>
<p>Geralt nods, pulling Jaskier ever closer, burying his nose in his hair. “Hmm. And we’ll eat ice cream until we’re sick with it.” Jaskier laughs. “And we’ll go to sleep in a bed that’s not way too small for the both of us. And in the morning, I’ll make you pancakes.”</p>
<p>“With blueberries, of course,” Jaskier mumbles, and Geralt laughs.</p>
<p>“With blueberries,” he agrees.</p>
<p>“And after that?” Jaskier whispers, sleep pulling at his eyes and limbs.</p>
<p>“After that, we’ll see. But whatever happens, we’ll be together.”</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs. “We’ll be together,” he mutters, right before darkness finally overtakes him.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He frowns, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he tugs at the scarf around Geralt’s neck, making sure it’s nice and snug, that it’ll protect him against the winter cold.</p>
<p>Hands come up to softly grasp at his wrists, stopping his slightly frantic moves and drawing his attention to Geralt’s face, blurry through the haze of tears that covers Jaskier’s eyes.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Geralt whispers. “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright. It’s just a month, it’ll be over before you know it.”</p>
<p>Jaskier scoffs, furiously trying to blink the tears away, only managing to make them spill over. “We both know that’s a load of crap.”</p>
<p>Geralt sighs softly. “It’s just thirty days, Jask. You just have to count thirty days, and then we’ll be together again. In five days I can visit you. And I can call you every day.”</p>
<p>“That’ll cost you. Calls aren’t cheap.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care.”</p>
<p>“Geralt, we don’t have the money, you can’t call every day.”</p>
<p>He feels a gentle finger under his chin, tilting his tear-streaked face up to meet Geralt’s eyes. “I do have the money, Jask, but if you insist, then fine. I’ll only call twice a week. Alright?”</p>
<p>He sighs, then nods, hands coming up again to tug at the scarf around Geralt’s neck, trembling fingers smoothing down the shoulders of the winter coat the prison gave them, the thick material scratchy on his skin. He ignores the feeling of hot tears spilling over his cheeks once more.</p>
<p>“Thirty days,” he whispers, voice trembling and on the verge of breaking.</p>
<p>“Just thirty days,” Geralt confirms, soft and soothing and <em>God, how Jaskier will miss him.</em></p>
<p>“Five days until you can visit.”</p>
<p>“And two until I call you.”</p>
<p>He nods, taking a few shaky breaths, before looking up at Geralt once more. “Promise me you won’t forget about me.”</p>
<p>Geralt sighs, pulling Jaskier closer and kissing him softly. “Never,” he whispers against Jaskier’s lips. “I would never forget about you.”</p>
<p>“<em>Promise me</em>.”</p>
<p>“I promise. I’ll always come back for you.”</p>
<p>Jaskier nods, wiping the tears off his cheeks before taking a step back. “Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than to Geralt. “I’m ready.”</p>
<p>Geralt squeezes his hand reassuringly, before letting go, opening the cell door for the both of them, closing it behind him, one last time. Together, they walk to the bustling halls of the prison, hands ghosting next to each other, never touching.</p>
<p>Everyone else has already said their goodbyes to Geralt, so it’s just the two of them now, as they reach the door that leads to the front desk, where Geralt will get his personal things and gets to walk out of the front door.</p>
<p>His wolf turns to him, taking his hand and squeezing it softly one last time, before quickly letting go. “Just thirty days, Jask.”</p>
<p>“Five days until you can visit.”</p>
<p>“Two until I can call.”</p>
<p>He takes a deep breath, a realization hitting him when he sees the holly wreath on the door leading to the front desk. “Can’t believe you’ll spend Christmas without me. And new year’s, too.”</p>
<p>Geralt smiles at him. “We’ll celebrate it when you get out. Just the two of us.”</p>
<p>He nods, blinking furiously to keep the tears from spilling over once more. “Alright,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Just the two of us.”</p>
<p>The door to the front desk opens, a disinterested woman looking between the two of them, before her bored eyes settle on Geralt. “Rivia?” Geralt nods. “Right, got a few papers for you to sign, and then you’re free to go. Come on.” She holds the door open for him, and Geralt looks at Jaskier one last time, before stepping over the threshold.</p>
<p>Jaskier hurries to the closest window, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. Well enough, after ten minutes, he sees Geralt walking across the prison parking lot, duffle bag in hand, towards an older man, leaning against a silver car. The man pulls Geralt into a tight hug, and Jaskier supposes he must be Vesemir – though he’ll have to ask Geralt when he comes to visit. Just five more days. And two until Geralt will call.</p>
<p>Geralt turns around, right before getting into the car, familiar amber eyes scanning the prison windows. Jaskier smiles, raising his hand and waving, once, twice, but Geralt’s gaze passes over him without lingering. Jaskier could swear he sees disappointment on his Wolf’s face, before he turns around again, closing the car door behind him.</p>
<p>He lowers his hand, fingertips pressed against the cold glass panes, melting the ice flowers on the other side in five neat, little circles, as the car starts and drives away.</p>
<p>Thirty more days. Five until Geralt visits. Two until he calls.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry this is turning a bit angsty again, but we just gotta get through some rain to get a rainbow, right? (And of course sunshine in the form of visits)</p>
<p>I'm on tumblr, @queen-squish! And once again, please don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment, because believe it or not, 1 comment = 1 phone call for Jaskier and Geralt.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alright, so first things first, I don't know if you've noticed, but I changed my name. I'm a dude, now.</p><p>Secondly, I don't know what Whumptober did to me, but suddenly I'm a lot more inspired to write this fic than I was before, so say thank you Whumptober, y'all! </p><p>And, as an apology for last chapter being so short, this one is a lot longer (also because I was on a roll and didn't feel like splitting this chapter in two, because it just made sense to keep it this way).</p><p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Can you hear me?” Geralt’s voice sounds scratchy over the tablet, but it’s still music to Jaskier’s ears, and he can’t help the wild smile that spreads over his face.</p><p>“I can hear you, love,” he says, “but I can’t see you.”</p><p>He hears soft cursing on the other end of the call, before Geralt removes a piece of tape from over his webcam. He holds it up sheepishly, before throwing it to the side. “Forgot about that, sorry.”</p><p>Geralt’s sitting on a grey, slightly threadbare couch, a small kitchen visible behind him. “Is that your apartment?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>Geralt looks over his shoulder, before turning back to the camera, shrugging a bit, a light blush creeping up his neck. “It is. I know it’s not much, but-“</p><p>“It’s perfect.” And it <em>is. </em>He can already see himself making pancakes in the small kitchen on a Sunday morning, shivering a bit as the winter chill creeps through the walls, until Geralt puts his arms around him to keep him warm. He can already imagine watching tv on the threadbare couch in the evening, his head against Geralt’s shoulder, their legs intertwined. He already knows he’s going to put a plant on that little side table he can see next to Geralt, and he already knows Geralt’s going to curse up a storm every time he nearly knocks the thing over.</p><p>He never knew he could miss something he never had.</p><p>“Hey,” Geralt says softly, and Jaskier must’ve probably looked as sad as he felt. “Just twenty-eight more days.”</p><p>He nods, sighing. “Just twenty-eight more days,” he repeats. He swallows, pushing the hurt away, plastering a smile on his face. “It’s nice seeing you in something other than orange.” And it’s true, Geralt looks nice with that black sweater he’s wearing.</p><p>Geralt shrugs again, pulling the sleeves over his hands, fidgeting with the hem as his ears tinge pink. “Well, it’s gonna be nice seeing you in something other than orange, as well.” He suddenly frowns, looking at his laptop again. “Do you have any clothes? For when you get out?”</p><p>This time it’s Jaskier’s turn to shrug. “Well, I’ll probably have the clothes they arrested me in.” He looks away, slight embarrassment making his cheeks glow. “But those are hardly appropriate,” he mutters, thinking back to the skimpy outfit he’d been wearing on that street corner the night he was brought to jail. He shrugs again. “The rest of my clothes were in my apartment, and they must’ve been given away with the rest of my belongings, by now. But I’ll figure something out,” he adds in a rush. “Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>Geralt simply looks at him, slight frown still on his face. “What size are you?”</p><p>He opens and closes his mouth a few times, probably looking like a fish out of the water. “I- no, you don’t have to, Geralt, you don’t have to buy clothes for me, I’ll be fine-“</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt says, not too unkindly, tilting his head to the side and smiling softly.</p><p>He sighs, rolling his eyes as he relents. “Fine, probably an M or something.”</p><p>He looks back when a guard pokes his head around the corner, pointing at his watch. “Two minutes, Pankratz.”</p><p>“Right,” he mutters, fumbling with the hem of his sleeve, a wave of sadness washing over him. “So I guess it’s already time to say goodbye again, then.”</p><p>Geralt nods. “I guess so. I’ll be there on Saturday, though. Just a few more days.”</p><p>He nods, blinking the tears in his eyes away. “Just a few more days.” He tries to smile brightly, he really does, but judging from the look Geralt gives him – soft and sad – his attempt falls flat. “I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me.”</p><p>“I know,” Geralt whispers, barely audible over the shitty microphone of the tablet. “I know.”</p><p>He suddenly perks up, remembering something from the day Geralt left. “Will you be bringing Vesemir?”</p><p>“If he’s up for it.”</p><p>Jaskier grins. “To see me? Who wouldn’t be?”</p><p>Geralt laughs, the sound making Jaskier’s heart ache, yet soothing him at the same time. “You’re right.”</p><p>“Of course I am. I’m always right.”</p><p>The guard’s voice sounds behind him again: “Ten seconds.”</p><p>He blinks, nodding quickly. “Right, yeah. Time to say goodbye. So, uh… goodbye.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Jask. I love you.”</p><p>“I-“ The screen goes to black, and he slumps in his chair, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. “I love you, too,” he whispers to his own reflection.</p><p>---</p><p>His cheeks hurt from grinning when he pulls Geralt into his arms, his love returning the crushing hug for a few seconds, before he pulls back a bit, kissing Jaskier softly. Jaskier can’t help but melt into his embrace, feel a little lighter as he returns the kiss, the heaviness of the past few days falling off his shoulders.</p><p>Someone clears their throat behind Geralt, and they separate, Geralt moving to the side to reveal a slightly shorter and stockier man with grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard. The man extends his hand, eyes twinkling as Jaskier shakes it.</p><p>“Vesemir, I presume?” he asks, still slightly out of breath, stealing glances of Geralt every couple of seconds, drinking in the sight of him.</p><p>The man nods, lets go of his hand before sitting down on one side of the table, Geralt sitting down next to him, Jaskier on the other side – following the prison’s guidelines.</p><p>“And you must be Jaskier.”</p><p>He nods, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the intent gaze of both Geralt and Geralt’s father on him, squirming in his seat a bit. “That’s me,” he says, forcefully bright.</p><p>“You broke Geralt’s heart.”</p><p>He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, brain short-circuiting. “Well,” he eventually says, “in my defence, I didn’t mean to?” He didn’t intend for it to come out as a question, but it does.</p><p>“Are you asking me, lad?”</p><p>He quickly shakes his head, feels heat rise up his cheeks. Geralt looks at his father, clearly unimpressed with the whole ordeal.</p><p>“Baba, don’t put him on the spot like this. It wasn’t his fault.”</p><p>“He shouldn’t have gotten shot,” Vesemir says very matter-of-factly.</p><p>“He wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. It. Wasn’t. His. Fault.”</p><p>Vesemir shrugs, before turning back to Jaskier, giving his hand a reassuring pat that feels a bit more threatening than Jaskier would like it to. “Don’t worry, lad. I know it wasn’t. And I know it won’t happen again. Right?”</p><p>He blinks, before nodding quickly. “Right, of course. Yes, sir.”</p><p>Vesemir grins, and Geralt gives Jaskier an apologetic look.</p><p>They eventually fall into small-talk, mostly about Christmas, which is less than a week away from now, and how Geralt and his brothers will all celebrate it with Vesemir, upholding the old tradition of drinking eggnog and copious amounts of alcohol and seeing how long it will take until they’re at each other’s throats. Jaskier throws Geralt a worried glance at that last part, but his love shakes his head with a smile – Jaskier supposes that means it’s either all fun and games, or that Geralt will make sure he’s the last one standing. He doesn’t really want to know which one it is.</p><p>Jaskier, in turn, doesn’t have much to tell. He talks about how Yarpen and Vil had nearly gotten themselves a week in solitary for arm-wrestling during lunch, and how the prison doesn’t really plan on celebrating Christmas all that much. Not that he minds much, of course – Christmas doesn’t hold many fond memories for him. The first eighteen years of his life, he spent it with his parents, returning from boarding school to a cold, cold home. After that, he spent Christmases on the streets, hoping to find someone as lonely as him so he could at least earn some money.</p><p>He doesn’t share that with Vesemir and Geralt, though, when they ask him why he doesn’t like the holiday season much. But when Geralt looks at him with a strange, sad glint in his eyes, Jaskier can tell that he knows. Secretly, he’s glad he doesn’t need to talk about it anymore.</p><p>“Well,” Vesemir concludes with a shrug, slapping his hand on the table as he stands up, visiting hours over. “Who knows? Maybe you can spend Christmas with the lot of us, next year.”</p><p>Jaskier stands as well, shaking Vesemir’s hand once more. “I would very much like that, sir.”</p><p>Vesemir fixes him with a stare, before nodding. “I would like that too, Jaskier.” He fights to hide the wild grin that’s starting to spread across his face as Vesemir turns to Geralt. “I’ll wait by the car, pup.” And with that, he’s gone.</p><p>Jaskier lets the grin spring free, jumping up and down on the balls of his feet. “That went better than I expected. Although, he can be a bit…”</p><p>“Much?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier finds himself nodding along.</p><p>“Well, now I see where you get it from.” Geralt frowns at that. Jaskier shrugs. “When I first met you, you were… a lot, too. That’s not an insult, darling, I now know you didn’t mean to glower like that all the time, but back then, I was very intimidated.”</p><p>Geralt smiles at him. “Really? You weren’t intimidated enough to stay away.”</p><p>“Oh, please, I know you’re glad I wasn’t.”</p><p>Geralt smiles again, pulling him closer with an arm around his shoulder, kissing him softly. “Hmm. You’re right.”</p><p>Jaskier grins, resting his forehead against Geralt’s, fisting his hands in the soft, black cardigan his Wolf is wearing. “I’m always right. How many times do I have to remind you?”</p><p>Geralt frowns, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm,” he muses. “I don’t know. Maybe once or twice more?”</p><p>“You’re insufferable.”</p><p>“I love you, Jask.”</p><p>“I love you, too, Geralt.”</p><p>---</p><p>He can barely hear Geralt over the noises that are coming through the microphone. There are several voices in the background, one he recognizes as Vesemir’s, the other two unknown, but a lot louder and clearly arguing over potatoes.</p><p>Geralt closes his eyes, the tight line of his lips telling Jaskier he’s annoyed, before he picks his laptop up, carrying it up a set of stairs and slamming the door behind him. He settles on a bed, then, the walls behind him painted blue and filled with pictures of dogs and motorcycles.</p><p>Jaskier grins at him. “Is that your childhood bedroom? And were those two your brothers?”</p><p>Geralt nods, his face slowly relaxing into something soft as he looks at Jaskier. “Yes to both of those questions.”</p><p>“Well, tell them that they should add nutmeg to the mashed potatoes, not cinnamon.”</p><p>Geralt closes his eyes in annoyance again. “Oh, for the love of God, not you, too,” he mutters.</p><p>“Hey, I’m just saying, those potatoes are gonna taste like shit if they’re gonna add cinnamon. It’s for your good, too. Also, are you wearing the same cardigan you were on Saturday?”</p><p>Geralt frowns down at himself, before he shakes his head. “No.”</p><p>“How many black cardigans do you own, Geralt?”</p><p>His Wolf looks away, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Give me a rough estimate.”</p><p>“Five. Maybe six.”</p><p>“And how many non-black cardigans do you own?”</p><p>“…None.”</p><p>He blinks, before a startled laugh bubbles out of him. “Dear God, Geralt. Once I’m getting out of here, we’re <em>so</em> gonna change that.” His eyes drift to the wall behind Geralt. “I think you would look rather dashing in blue,” he muses.</p><p>He hears the guard’s voice behind him. “Two minutes, Pankratz.”</p><p>He sighs. “Christ, time really flies, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Geralt smiles at him, fingers playing with the hem of his cardigan. “All the better. You’ll be home sooner if time flies.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks, a sudden flood of warmth washing over him, tears prickling behind his eyes. “Home,” he whispers, the word both painfully foreign and soothingly familiar on his tongue.</p><p>“Home,” Geralt repeats, eyes gentle and understanding, and Jaskier is once again reminded that for the first eight years of his life, Geralt didn’t have a home, either. They both know how it feels not to have one, and now they both know how it feels to find one.</p><p>“<em>Who the fuck put cinnamon in the potatoes?</em>” Vesemir’s voice is loud and clear, even through the shitty microphone, and Geralt’s eyebrows draw together as he sighs, though a playful smile tugs at his lips.</p><p>“I better go get Lambert out of trouble,” he mutters. “I’ll talk to you on Saturday again?”</p><p>Jaskier nods. “See you on Saturday. Merry Christmas, Geralt.”</p><p>“Merry Christmas, Jaskier.”</p><p>---</p><p>He can’t get his arms around Geralt quickly enough, on Saturday, pulling him to his chest and pressing his nose into silver locks. Geralt chuckles softly, the vibrations of it rumbling through his chest and against Jaskier’s cheek.</p><p>“It’s good to see you, too.” Geralt frowns when he pulls back to look at him, warm hand coming up to gently cup Jaskier’s cheek. “You look tired.”</p><p>He shrugs, trying to stifle a yawn. “It’s harder to fall asleep when you’re not there.” He doesn’t mention how his new cellmate, Eist, keeps him up half the night, talking about his <em>brilliant wife </em>and how much he misses her – the incessant rambling only serving to remind Jaskier of Geralt even more, the hurt growing in his chest with every night that passes.</p><p>Luckily, Geralt accepts the explanation, and sits down. “I know how you feel. I miss having you next to me.”</p><p>He grins. “<em>On top of you, </em>you mean, the bed was way too small for me to be next to you.”</p><p>Geralt smiles softly, looking at his hands, intertwined on the table. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns. “Is everything alright, my love? You seem… nervous.”</p><p>He expects Geralt to deny it, to say that it’s fine and move on, so his worry only grows when his Wolf nods. “Well, yeah, it’s- you see… I, uh…” He shakes his head, frustration creasing his brow. “It’s Christmas.”</p><p>He blinks. “Well, yeah. I mean, it was a few days ago, but I suppose you could still count the rest of this week as part of Christmas.”</p><p>“And, uh… Christmas is… for gifts.”</p><p>He cocks his head at that, now thoroughly confused. He has absolutely no idea where this might be going. “I suppose.” The bottom of his stomach falls away. “Oh, God, I don’t have a gift for you, I’m so sorry, Geralt-“</p><p>“No!” Geralt looks about as startled as he feels. “No, that’s not- you didn’t need to buy a gift, that’s not what I’m saying.” Jaskier waits for Geralt to speak again, gives him some time to gather his thoughts and words. Eventually, Geralt pulls out an envelope from the pocket of his coat, sliding it over the table towards Jaskier.</p><p>Jaskier frowns, taking the envelope. There’s something small and heavy in it, and curiosity stirs in him as he tears the envelope open, hands trembling a little with anticipation. He reaches in, fingers closing around something cold and sharp.</p><p>He takes it out, looking at it with confusion, before apprehension overtakes him. It’s a key. A simple, metal key.</p><p>He looks up at Geralt, who nods at the envelope again, so Jaskier takes another look inside. He takes out the folded piece of paper he hadn’t noticed before, so focused had he been on the key itself.</p><p>It’s a picture of a house, crammed between two equally tall houses, looking a bit dilapidated. The ground floor of the house is one, big room, visible through a large window, half-covered by an awning. It almost looks like… a shop, with the rest of the house available to live in.</p><p>He blinks, apprehensive, until his eyes fall on the key on the table next to him, and he remembers that afternoon in the prison yard, so very long ago, Geralt’s head pillowed in his lap as he played with those silver locks.</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier sighed again, smile slowly fading away. “Now I just gotta find a job, I guess. That’s gonna be fun.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m sure you’ll be fine, Jaskier. Really.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“How can you be so sure? I mean, who’d wanna hire me? No way they’re not gonna find my record, no way anyone’s gonna want a whore as their employee.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt frowned. “Don’t say that. I’m sure you’ll find someone who’ll hire you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, but where? I barely finished school, and the only thing I’ve got experience in is fucking people and letting them fuck me. So, what? Am I gonna have to work in a supermarket the rest of my life? Do I take on a massive debt and go to college only to not get employed by anyone anyways because I’ve been arrested?” His frustration fell away suddenly, voice growing sad and tired, as he looked at the grass, eyes distant. “I have no future,” he whispered.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt tugged at their still intertwined hands. “Hey, look at me,” he muttered, and Jaskier obliged, meeting intense, amber eyes. “Tell me, if you had all the money in the world, and none of this had happened, what would you want to do with your life?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier sighed, rolled his eyes, but indulged him. “I don’t know… I’d get married and shit. Maybe adopt, like, a dog. Open a flower shop.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Open a flower shop.</em>
</p><p>Open a flower shop.</p><p>He snaps his head up at Geralt, mouth falling open as the picture in his hand shakes. “Geralt,” he whispers, tears gathering at the back of his throat. “Don’t tell me this is what I think it is.”</p><p>Geralt looks away, biting his bottom lip. “It uhm… it needs some work, still. Gotta renovate both the shop and the…” he waves his hand a bit “living part. So we’re still gonna have to live in the old apartment for a while, but after that, we can… move into our own home… set up the shop… and all that. So… yeah.”</p><p>For once, Jaskier’s rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as tears start to fall down his cheeks. “Y- you didn’t have to, Geralt.”</p><p>“I wanted to.” His Wolf looks at him, his gaze heavy and intent and so full of love Jaskier can barely comprehend it. “I <em>want </em>to open a flower shop with you. I’m an accountant, so I can do the administration, and you can… you know, sell flowers.” He reaches across the table, taking both of Jaskier’s hands in his. “I want to see you happy, Jask.” Amber eyes look at him, soft and pleading and asking him to please tell Geralt if he did the right thing.</p><p>He nods, grinning so wide it hurts his cheeks. “I am happy. I’m so happy.” He looks at the picture again, can already imagine picking out a new colour for the awning, setting tables full of plants and flowers out to catch customers’ attention and cheer the place up a bit, can already see himself turning a small, painted sign to say ‘open’ and get ready for the day as sunlight falls through the large window, can already picture turning the sign back to ‘closed’ late in the evening as he feels Geralt’s arms around him, his Wolf’s warm breath tickling his neck, before they head upstairs to start dinner.</p><p>He can already picture everything and so much more, his entire life suddenly clear ahead of him, and brighter than he could ever imagine it to be before he ended up in this place, before he met Geralt.</p><p>He leans forward, tears now streaming down his face freely, as he clasps his Wolf’s face between his hands, kissing him over and over, muttering small ‘thank you’s and ‘I love you’s in-between. Geralt kisses him back softly as he smiles, golden eyes happy and relieved.</p><p>“I love you, too,” he mutters. “More than anything, Jask. I just want you to be happy.”</p><p>“I am,” he whispers against Geralt’s lips. “I’m happy, I am so, so happy. I love you so much.”</p><p>“I love you, too. Merry Christmas, Jask.”</p><p>He laughs softly, his cheeks hurting with his joy. “Merry Christmas, Geralt.”</p><p>---</p><p>He squints at the pictures Geralt is holding up, a bit blurry through the webcam. “Is it me, or is the house painted brown?”</p><p>Geralt nods, turning the picture towards himself a bit so he can see it. “Yeah. It looks even worse in person. It’s all flaky and dirty. Whoever did it didn’t do a very good job of it.”</p><p>Jaskier purses his lips. “Then we gotta paint over it, I suppose.”</p><p>Geralt nods again, putting the picture down, staring at it a bit longer. “I think white would look nice.”</p><p>Jaskier can’t help but grin, can already imagine how it would look. “White would look very nice. And then maybe paint the door green? That fits a flower shop, right?”</p><p>“Right,” Geralt confirms. “I’ll get some paint cards from Home Depot so we can pick out a colour.” He picks up another picture, holding it up to the camera. It’s a view from the entrance of the shop, another door in the opposite wall probably leading to the stairs, the rest of the room empty, illuminated by the sunshine falling through the large window.</p><p>“I like the wooden floors,” Jaskier muses. “But we’ll probably need to sand it down and polish it again.”</p><p>Geralt nods. “And we should repaint the walls.”</p><p>“Yeah, I really don’t like that grey colour. Maybe a light beige? Something light, anyways, so the room seems bigger.”</p><p>“I’ll get some cards for that, too. Maybe we can take the plaster off one of the walls, expose the brick.”</p><p>He gasps softly, a giddy joy filling him at the thought. “Geralt, darling, I never knew you had a knack for interior design.”</p><p>His Wolf looks away, shrugging a bit, a light flush crawling up his neck before he quickly changes the subject. “I’ll get some wood to make a counter. And we need a cash register, too.”</p><p>Jaskier nods. “How much do cash registers even cost? Can’t be cheap, right?”</p><p>“Depends on the brand, I suppose. I’ll do some googling.”</p><p>He sighs, leaning his chin on his forearms, folded on the desk in front of him. “God, none of this can be cheap.” There’s guilt stirring in his chest – Geralt’s the one paying for all of this, and meanwhile Jaskier’s just sitting there, penniless and suggesting to repaint the entire facade of the house.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Jask,” Geralt says. “We’ll figure something out, we’ll find a way. I can borrow some money from Vesemir if we run out.”</p><p>He closes his eyes in shame and horror, burying his face in his hands. “<em>No, </em>Geralt, you don’t have to do that, I don’t want you to put yourself in debt with your father because of me. I’ll… I’ll find a way to earn some money-“ There’s still that corner he used to stand at, maybe it’s as busy as it used to be, maybe some of his old clients still remember him. He can make himself useful again.</p><p>“Jaskier, no. I know what you’re suggesting and you’re not going back on the streets.”</p><p>Of course. It makes sense, that Geralt wouldn’t want a boyfriend who’s whoring himself out, wouldn’t want a stranger’s sloppy seconds. He feels shame colouring his cheeks, prickling at his eyes, as he shrinks in on himself, hugging his own waist tightly.</p><p>“I understand,” he mumbles. “I mean, why would you want someone who’s already been used? It’s okay, I’ll find something different-“</p><p>“Jaskier, no-“</p><p>“Two minutes!” the guard calls behind him.</p><p>“Jask, look at me,” Geralt says softly, and Jaskier obliges, though the image of his Wolf is slightly blurry through the haze of his tears. “That’s not what I meant at all. I don’t care if you go back to what you were doing before, but only if you really <em>want </em>it. I don’t want you to do it because you feel obligated to, or because you feel like you’re somehow indebted to me, or because you feel guilty. If you go back on the streets, I want it to be because that’s what you really <em>want. </em>And it’s… it can be dangerous out there, Jask.”</p><p>He scoffs. He knows that more than he would like to, remembers all the times he had to run from a group of men who were getting a bit too close and were a bit too drunk for his liking. Remembers all the times he listened to his gut feeling when it told him not to get in the car with a slick, smooth-talking business man, only to hear from one of the others later that the man in question had lured someone else in and beaten them up. Remembers all the times he’d been grateful he was standing on the corner of a busy street, instead of some back alley where he couldn’t just disappear into the crowd.</p><p>“Jask, I just want you to be safe and happy. You don’t need to feel indebted to me for <em>anything. </em>I’m doing this because I love you, and because I want this as well. I <em>want</em> to have a flower shop with you, more than anything.”</p><p>He sighs, before he nods, feeling a little more assured, though still a bit uncertain. “I understand. I love you.”</p><p>“I love you too, Jask.”</p><p>The screen goes to black.</p><p>---</p><p>“What do you mean, we can’t light fireworks tonight?” an unknown voice asks off-screen, a few days later. Geralt’s back at his father’s house, resting his head in his hands as his brothers continue to argue.</p><p>“We can’t because Geralt’s boyfriend is in prison,” a different voice answers, very matter-of-factly, and Jaskier barely manages to swallow a startled laugh.</p><p>“What’s that got to do with anything?”</p><p>“It’s making him sad, Eskel! We can’t light fireworks if one of us is sad, that’s gonna ruin all the fun of it.”</p><p>“Lambert, I swear to God, you’re not making any fucking sense right now-“</p><p>The two continue to argue as Jaskier tries to stifle his giggles, Geralt sighing deeply, shaking his head. “These two,” he mumbles.</p><p>“They sound great. I would love to meet them sometime,” Jaskier says, leaning back in his chair.</p><p>“Who’s that?” One of Geralt’s brothers asks, before appearing on screen, standing behind Geralt. “Oh, hey! You must be Jaskier!”</p><p>Jaskier grins and waves at the screen sheepishly as Lambert – at least he assumes it’s Lambert, judging by his ginger hair and the way he looks a bit younger than Geralt – waves over someone else.</p><p>“Eskel, come meet Jaskier!”</p><p>Geralt sighs again. “I would rather have you all meet in person-“</p><p>“It’s fine!” Jaskier says, bouncing a bit in his seat, grinning when Geralt gives him a slightly exasperated look.</p><p>Another man appears on screen, and Jaskier’s broad grin falls slightly, though he plasters it on his face again immediately afterwards, trying not to alarm Geralt.</p><p>He recognizes the newcomer, recognizes the scars that mar the right side of his face, remembers kissing them softly and telling the man how beautiful they made him, remembers those full lips kissing down his stomach tenderly, remembers twining his fingers in those soft, brown locks.</p><p>He exchanges a look with Eskel – or Es, as Jaskier knew him, back when he was still working on the streets – who’s looking as startled as Jaskier feels, and they both make a silent promise never to speak about this to Geralt.</p><p>“Nice to meet you two!” he says cheerfully.</p><p>“Oh, he’s pretty,” Lambert says, clapping Geralt on the shoulder. “Never imagined someone so pretty could want someone with a mug as ugly as yours, Ger-bear!”</p><p>Geralt turns to glare at him. “Don’t,” he warns in a low voice, and Lambert laughs.</p><p>“Two minutes,” the guard says behind Jaskier, and he sighs.</p><p>“Would it kill them to make these calls a bit longer?” he asks no one in particular, and Geralt gives him a soft look. “I would love to talk with you guys a little longer.”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Eskel says, voice as subdued and gentle as Jaskier remembers. “We will once you get out of there.”</p><p>He nods, giving Eskel a quick smile, before he looks at Geralt again. “Right. See you again on Saturday, then?”</p><p>“See you on Saturday, Jask.”</p><p>The screen goes to black.</p><p>---</p><p>The weeks pass by quickly after that, and before he knows it, he’s hugging the wankers goodbye. Yarpen slaps him on his shoulder, grinning widely before he steps back. “Try not to kill anyone, lad.”</p><p>Jaskier snorts, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s gonna be much of a problem, Yarp.”</p><p>He doesn’t get the time to say anything else to Yarpen, because Vil is already standing in front of him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, pretty boy. I’ll try to visit you when I get out.”</p><p>He smiles into Vil’s shoulder, clapping him on the back a few times. “I would like that, Vil. And if you ever need help or a roof over your head when things don’t work out for you, don’t hesitate to find me, alright? Prostitutes stick together.”</p><p>“Thank you. Take care, Jask.”</p><p>“I will.” He steps back, squeezing Vil’s shoulder one last time, before he turns to Mousesack. “I’m gonna miss you, old man.”</p><p>“I’m going to miss you too, little lark. It was a pleasure to meet you and an honour to call you my friend.”</p><p>Jaskier laughs, pulling Mousesack into a quick hug. “Dramatic as always, Ermion.”</p><p>“Today is a good day to be dramatic, songbird.”</p><p>“I suppose so,” he mutters, taking a step back. “It was an honour to call you my friend as well.”</p><p>“So long, lark.”</p><p>“So long, Mousesack.”</p><p>He exchanges a polite handshake with Coën. “It’s a shame I never did get the chance to get to know you well, big guy, but I know you’re a decent fellow. Good luck with the rest of your sentence.”</p><p>Coën smiles at him, squeezing Jaskier’s smaller hand in his own huge one lightly. “Thank you. And good luck with your shop. Once I get out of here, I would love to see it, if that’s alright.”</p><p>He can’t help but smile brightly. “Of course it is. You’re always welcome, Coën.”</p><p>He doesn’t get the chance to give the taller man one last smile, before he gets pulled into Istredd’s chest, his best friend holding him tightly. “I’m going to miss your stupid face.”</p><p>He sighs, patting Istredd on the back a few times. “I’m going to miss you, too, Is. But I’ll call, and I’ll visit too, alright? You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”</p><p>Istredd chuckles into his shoulder, before he pulls back, holding him at an arm’s length, light eyes glistening with tears that he hastily wipes away. “Yeah, of course. I’d probably have to kill you before I’m rid of you.”</p><p>He grins. “Exactly! And there’s no way you can do that from inside this prison, so it looks like you’re stuck with me, buddy.”</p><p>“I could hire a hitman.”</p><p>“Oh, please, you’re even more penniless than me.”</p><p>Istredd laughs softly. “You’ve got a point there.”</p><p>“Pankratz?” He looks up when a guard calls his name from across the empty dining room. “Time to go, inmate.”</p><p>“Right,” he mutters, pulling Istredd into another quick hug, before letting go completely, taking a few steps back, taking one last look at the wankers. “I’m going to miss you guys.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t get all sappy on us, pretty boy,” Vil says, nodding at the guard behind him. “Go, be with your boyfriend, live a happy life or whatever. But don’t you ever show your face in this prison again.”</p><p>He smiles. “I wouldn’t dare.” He turns around, following the guard through the long, halls, his footsteps on the linoleum echoing off the cement walls. He passes the spot where he got shot, all those weeks ago, and he stills for half a second, looking at the light blood stains still visible on the floor. Then, he moves on.</p><p>He’s led to a small room next to the front office, where a guard presses a bundle of clothes into his hands. “Your boyfriend dropped these off last Saturday,” the man says when Jaskier gives him an inquiring look.</p><p>“Ah, thanks, Beckett.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Beckett mutters. “The rest of your stuff is in a bag outside the door. You just have to sign a paper before you leave, and then you’re free to go.”</p><p>He can’t help the slow grin that spreads across his face. It all feels so surreal, after all these months, after all he’s been through, all he’s lost and found within these cement walls – and today, he’s leaving all that behind him. Today, he’s going to a home he never thought he’d have.</p><p>Beckett lingers by the door for a second, and turns around again. “I, uh… I’m sorry. For everything we’ve put you through, but Johnson was… it was very difficult to say no to him. He was very unpredictable. Ruthless. I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t make it okay, but… I just wanted to say that.”</p><p>Jaskier knows he’s right, knows that Johnson being an arsehole doesn’t excuse what the other guards did to him, but he’s also tired of thinking about it, and ready to leave it all behind him. “I forgive you.”</p><p>Beckett nods. “I wish you all the best, Pankratz.” And with that, he’s gone.</p><p>Jaskier takes off the prison uniform, dropping it in the corner unceremoniously. He has a fleeting thought to rip it apart, just for the satisfaction of it, but decides against it – he just wants to get out of here as soon as possible.</p><p>Geralt’s brought him a soft, yellow cardigan, and some simple jeans and sneakers, and he smiles as he runs his hand down the soft wool. It’s been a while since he wore something as nice and pleasant against his skin as this, and he takes a few moments to just feel it, feel the soft fabric, and feel human again.</p><p>Then, he steps out of the door, into the front office, taking the plastic bag with his ID and rest of his personal belongings from the floor, and makes his way to the front desk, where he signs the discharge papers.</p><p>And when he turns around, Geralt’s there, smiling at him softly. “Let’s go home,” he says, extending his hand. Jaskier takes it, intertwining their fingers, his cheeks hurting with his joy, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest.</p><p>“Let’s go home.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was tempted for half a second to leave this fic like this, because it is a picture-perfect open ending, but uh.... absolutely not. I wanna write these two idiots opening their flower shop so bad, so there's no way I'm going to stop it here.</p><p>Also I'm on tumblr, @king-finnigan!</p><p>And again! Please don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment, because believe it or not, but 1 comment = 1 cardigan for Geralt that isn't black.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! First of all, I would like to thank you all for your kind words and support on the last chapter! It really means a lot to me and it makes me really happy, so thank you!</p><p>Secondly, have some uhhhhh mindless fluff. For now, just a bit of slice of life, before we start getting into plot stuff again. I'm just so soft for these two.<br/>(also, google thinks I want to open a flower shop, now, with all the research I've been doing. Turns out I didn't know how flower shops work At All. I sure do now, though.)</p><p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hmm. We should get up.”</p><p>“<em>No.”</em></p><p>“We should. It’s already ten and we should go to Home Depot, pick up some paint and wood.”</p><p>“But Geralt, it’s <em>cold.</em>”</p><p>“The house has insulation. The sooner we renovate it, the sooner we get to wake up in a warm bedroom.”</p><p>“But it’s warm <em>here, </em>under the blankets. Geralt- no, don’t leave me, where are you going?”</p><p>Geralt grins over his shoulder as he walks across the room, turning on the old oil heater, and Jaskier listens to it sputter to life.</p><p>“Come back to bed, my Wolf, you’re way better at warming me up than that old thing.”</p><p>Geralt pulls up and eyebrow at the hand Jaskier’s stretched out to him, the only part of him that isn’t buried under the mountain of blankets, aside from his head. Then, he sighs, his shoulders sagging as he relents, and Jaskier grins in triumph.</p><p>“Fine,” Geralt says with no real bite. “Twenty more minutes, but after that, we’re really getting out of bed.”</p><p>“Of course, love,” Jaskier says, already plotting in his head how he can get Geralt to stay even after those twenty minutes, when his Wolf slips into bed again, pressing his freezing feet to Jaskier’s calves. He shrieks, scrambling to get away. “Oi! Fuck off with those icicles, what the hell, Geralt?”</p><p>Geralt simply laughs, gathering him into his arms, pressing his cold, cold cheek against Jaskier’s. “Hmm. You’re right. It <em>is </em>nice and warm here.”</p><p>Jaskier sighs, squirming out of Geralt’s embrace and pushing the blankets away, no longer feeling fuzzy and soft. “Alright, I’m too awake now. You win. I’m getting up.”</p><p>This time it’s Geralt’s turn to grin in triumph.</p><p>---</p><p>He yawns, blearily blinking down at the pan, shivering even though the heat of the stove warms him a bit – it’s just so damn cold in this apartment. He’s contemplating whether he should just steal Geralt’s winter coat and wear it indoors when – speak of the devil – he feels his Wolf’s warmth behind him, mere seconds before arms holding a blanket wrap around him.</p><p>He sighs, leaning back against Geralt’s chest, smiling softly as his love ducks his head to pepper kisses along his neck.</p><p>“Hmm. I didn’t know you knew how to make pancakes.”</p><p>Jaskier gives him a half-shrug. “I didn’t, but there’s nothing you can’t do when you have YouTube and an unstable internet connection.”</p><p>He works the spatula under the pancake, flipping it over. The other side is entirely pitch-black, the scent of burnt food spreading through the apartment. He smacks the back of Geralt’s neck lightly when he feels him chuckling into his neck, amber eyes undoubtedly fixated on the fucked up pancake.</p><p>“Honestly, you’re a natural, Jask.”</p><p>He sighs wistfully, prodding at the black circle with the spatula. “I know. It’s a gift.”</p><p>It’s quiet for a while, as Jaskier continues poking at the thing, not sure what to do with it. He turns the stove off, though, since that seems to be a good place to start.</p><p>Geralt gives another soft kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Please don’t make me eat that.”</p><p>---</p><p> “Oh. Oh, wow.”</p><p>He’s standing on the sidewalk, looking up at the house, squeezed between two others, the entire front of it covered in peeling, brown paint. He can see that, though the shop is quite large, it needs a lot of work to make it presentable to customers: the window needs to be cleaned, the floors sanded down and repolished, the walls painted, and there’s no furniture whatsoever.</p><p>“I know,” Geralt mutters. “It isn’t… great. And it needs a lot of work-“</p><p>“It’s perfect.” He couldn’t fight the wild grin that spreads across his face even if he wanted to, and he reaches out to take Geralt’s hand, running his thumb across the knuckles. “I love it. It’s perfect.”</p><p>He bounds across the street, fumbling with his key to get the front door of the shop open – painted an ugly colour that might’ve once been called white – as he hears Geralt opening the back of the car behind him, taking out the cans of paint they picked out an hour ago.</p><p>He sneezes when he steps inside, his feet making clouds of dust whirl up, and he watches them float through the sunlight pouring into the shop. “God, Geralt, we should’ve brought-“</p><p>He feels a nudge at his shoulder and looks back to see Geralt extending a broom to him. He takes it, the worn wood smooth under his fingers.</p><p>“-a broom. Thank you, love.” He pecks a quick kiss on Geralt’s cheek, and sets the broom to the side. “I’m gonna see what else is there. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>“Hmm. Be careful.”</p><p>He throws a grin over his shoulder as he walks to the door on the other side of the room. “Always.” Geralt snorts.</p><p>Behind the door, there’s a small hallway with two more doors. To the left, there’s a room – not too big, but big enough that it could be divided into two smaller rooms. He decides to keep that in mind.</p><p>The other door leads to a staircase up. He takes it two at a time, ignoring the way the steps creak under his feet and the dust clouds that billow up around him as he goes. He finds himself in a big room, spanning the entirety of the house. On his right, there’s a small kitchen, with a cooking island separating it from what appears to be the living room, judging from the old couch that stands against one of the walls.</p><p>He walks to the front of the house, to the large windows that let in the late afternoon sunlight. When he peers down, he can see Geralt unloading more paint cans from the car he borrowed from Vesemir. Jaskier can’t help but smile – God, how’d he manage to get so lucky? Just a year ago, he was some nobody spending his days on the corner of a street, no friends, no family, no money, no <em>nothing. </em>And then, he made what he thought was the worst mistake of his life: he didn’t spot the cops walking towards him and he managed to get arrested.</p><p>And here he is, now, a year later, standing in the house he’s gonna be living in with his boyfriend, right above his own flower shop, looking down as said boyfriend spots him standing in the window, grinning and waving up at him.</p><p>Jaskier waves back, blowing Geralt a kiss. His Wolf rolls his eyes playfully, and continues carrying the cans of paint inside.</p><p>Jaskier walks back to the stairs, taking another flight up, towards the top floor. It’s a lot like the living room and kitchen, though this time it’s a bedroom and an office space, a door to his right to what he assumes is the bathroom.</p><p>He remembers Geralt saying over a video call a few weeks ago that it wasn’t much. And Jaskier figures that, to Geralt, it’s not – after all, he grew up in a large house. One that he shared with three others, true, but large nonetheless. And Jaskier supposes that, if he’d been fifteen years younger, still a bit used to the luxury he enjoyed with his parents’ money, he wouldn’t have thought this much, either.</p><p>But now, fifteen years later, to him, this is <em>everything. </em>Everything he’d ever wished he could have. Everything he never thought he would.</p><p>He shakes his head. Now is not the time to be poetic. There’s work to do.</p><p>---</p><p>He leans his head on Geralt’s shoulder, the faint scent of sweat reaching his nose. “I have an idea,” he mutters, pointing at the wall opposite the large window. “There is a room behind that.”</p><p>“That’s not an idea, Jask, that’s a fact,” Geralt says dryly, the hint of a laugh in his voice.</p><p>Jaskier sighs, pulling a strand of silver hair softly. “I <em>know that. </em>Let me speak.”</p><p>“It’s all you ever do.”</p><p>He sighs, leaning back, mild irritation flaring up. “Do you want to hear my idea or not?”</p><p>Geralt looks over his shoulder as he takes Jaskier’s hand, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles, and the frustration melts away. “I’m sorry. I’d love to hear your idea.”</p><p>He nods, stepping forward to rest his chin on Geralt’s shoulder once again. “Well, I’ve been doing some reading on how to open a flower shop, back at the…” he waves his hand a bit “you know.” These past few days, the word <em>prison </em>has become too painful for him to utter out loud, the gunshot wound in his chest throbbing with agony every time he does.</p><p>Geralt nods, though, and waits for him to gather his thoughts.</p><p>“And I’ve read that we need a cooler. Preferably two – one for showcasing arrangements at the front of the store, and one to keep the stock in. <em>And </em>I need a workstation to <em>make </em>said arrangements at. So I was thinking-“ he points at the wall again “-what if we break that out? Put the stock cooler there, one with windows and stuff, and put the workstation behind that. So the store feels bigger and customers can see what stock we have. And if I’m working on arrangements, I can <em>see </em>when customers come in. And customers can see me work, too -  a bit of an advertisement, if you catch my drift. What do you think?”</p><p>Geralt turns his face slightly, and Jaskier can see a soft smile out of the corner of his eye. “I think I love you.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes, though he feels something warm and fuzzy in his chest, and he presses a soft kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Well, I love you too. But what do you think of my idea?”</p><p>“If you’re happy, I’m happy.”</p><p>He laughs, pushing himself away. “Ugh! You’re useless.”</p><p>He doesn’t get far, though, as Geralt’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist, pulling him close again. “I think it’s a great idea. We do have to make sure it’s not a supporting wall before we break it open, though. Wouldn’t want this house to come down on us.”</p><p>“If it is a supporting wall, we’ll just ask Lambert to do it.”</p><p>Geralt throws his head back, his hearty laugh one of the most beautiful things Jaskier’s ever heard. “Works for me.”</p><p>It isn’t a supporting wall, they later find out.</p><p>They call Lambert anyways.</p><p>---</p><p>His leg is bouncing up and down, heel tapping on the floor as his hands shake.</p><p>“Jask, it’s fine. It’s gonna be fine.”</p><p>He shakes his head wildly, trembling fingers pressing the bloodied towel against Geralt’s thumb more tightly, earning him a small wince. “No, it’s not <em>fine,</em>” he hisses, trying not to be too loud and bother the other people in the ER. “You <em>cut your own thumb off.</em>”</p><p>“I didn’t cut my own thumb off. It’s just a flesh wound.”</p><p>“<em>Still!” </em>Geralt sighs softly, pressing a small kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s lips, and, infuriatingly, it does help to calm him down a bit.</p><p>“Jask. It’s gonna be fine. It’s probably gonna need some stitches, and I’m gonna have to take it easy for a few days, but that’s all there is to it.”</p><p>“You better not be lying to me, Geralt Rivia. I’ll kill you if you die.”</p><p>Geralt smiles softly. “Says the man who got shot in the chest and got everyone he knew to believe he was dead for two weeks straight.”</p><p>He bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. “Well, in my defence, I didn’t do that on purpose.”</p><p>“And I didn’t cut myself in the finger on purpose.”</p><p>He sighs, his shoulders sagging a bit, his leg still bouncing persistently. “Promise me it’s fine?”</p><p>“I promise. It barely even hurts anymore.”</p><p>He can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “That’s when you gotta watch out, actually. Once it stops hurting, it’s over. Trust me, I got shot and nearly died, I would know.”</p><p>Geralt laughs, shakes his head softly. “Alright, you win, I’m dying. Happy now?”</p><p>He’s torn between saying <em>‘as long as I’m with you, I’m always happy’</em> and <em>‘if you’re dying, then I’m not happy’. </em>Instead, he ends up saying: “If you’re dying, I’m always happy.”</p><p>He snaps his mouth shut, eyes widening and blush rising to his cheeks when he realizes what he just said. Geralt on the other hand, looks at him for a second or two, before breaking out into a laugh, startling more than a few people in the waiting room and earning them angry glances.</p><p>It takes a few seconds for Jaskier to start laughing too. “I didn’t- That’s not what I wanted to say <em>at all.”</em></p><p>Geralt hiccups, putting his arm around Jaskier’s shoulder and pulling him close. “Yeah, I figured that much.”</p><p>They both look up as a door opens to their right, a doctor stepping out. “Geralt Rivia?”</p><p>The other people in the waiting room seem relieved to see them go.</p><p>---</p><p>Three days later, Geralt manages to secure a loan at the bank.</p><p>---</p><p>“Cinnamon!”</p><p>“Nutmeg!”</p><p>“Cinnamon!”</p><p>“Nutmeg!”</p><p>Jaskier laughs, pressing his face into Geralt’s shoulder, the soft, grey sweater he bought for his Wolf tickling his nose. The colour of it had been a compromise – Jaskier insisting that Geralt get something other than black, and Geralt looking generally very uncomfortable in anything brighter than the night sky. They’d settled on grey instead, but in all reality, Jaskier really likes this colour on Geralt. It makes his eyes stand out even more and makes him look incredibly soft.</p><p>“God, are they having this argument <em>again?</em>”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“You’d think they’ve learned after the Christmas dinner disaster.”</p><p>“Hmm. They never do.”</p><p>“Jaskier!” he looks over his shoulder to see Lambert striding out of the kitchen, a jar held in each hand. “You’re a smart man, right?”</p><p>“Debatable,” Geralt mutters, and Jaskier smacks his shoulder lightly.</p><p>“Don’t be rude, Geralt.” He turns in his love’s arms, pressing his back against that broad chest. “I happen to be <em>very </em>smart, actually.”</p><p>“Good. Mashed potatoes should have cinnamon in them, right?” Lambert throws a pointed look at Eskel, who’s now standing next to him, arms folded in front of his chest. “And <em>not </em>nutmeg. Right?”</p><p>Jaskier makes a face. “Actually, no. It should be nutmeg.”</p><p>“Dammit!” Lambert storms back into the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans clanging emerging shortly after as he… well, does whatever it is he’s doing in there. Jaskier doesn’t think he wants to know.</p><p>Eskel shakes his head, smiling softly. “Don’t take it personally. He’s just very stubborn and easy to anger.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles at him. “I know.” He frowns. “Hey, did you ever manage to get that job you were applying for?” He freezes when he realizes that Eskel told him about that one of the last times they met – right before Jaskier went to prison. When he realizes that he’s not supposed to know about that.</p><p>Eskel looks positively uncomfortable as well.</p><p>“He did,” Geralt replies in his brother’s stead, and Jaskier can hear the frown in his voice. He’s suddenly glad he’s not facing Geralt. “How do you know about that, though? That was over a year ago.”</p><p>“Y- you told me,” he quickly says, smiling up at Geralt, craning his neck uncomfortably. “A few months ago. You told me Eskel had been applying for a job and that you were wondering if he got it. I actually listen to you when you talk, love. Might not always seem like it, but still.”</p><p>“Right,” Geralt mutters. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced for a second, but then shrugs, his face open and content again. “Well, he did get the job.” He looks at Eskel, smiling softly.</p><p>Eskel nods, the tenseness in his face falling away. “I did.”</p><p>“Good to know,” Jaskier says, and he hopes that Eskel can tell that he really means it. He really is glad for Geralt’s brother – he’s a good man, who’s had to deal with some bad shit in the past, so now that everything’s falling into place for him, Jaskier couldn’t be happier.</p><p>Eskel smiles back at him, and for a second, everything’s quiet. When Jaskier finally tears his eyes away and looks up at Geralt, he finds his Wolf’s gaze flicking between the two of them, eyebrows twitching as if trying to draw together.</p><p>---</p><p>Dinners have always been quiet, for as long as Jaskier can remember. They were quiet when he was younger, sitting at a large table with his parents, two people that hated each other and hated him even more for being the only thing keeping them together. They were quiet at boarding school, the teachers all too happy to slap them on the wrist with a wooden ruler if they were being too loud. They were quiet when he was working on the streets, most of the time eating alone or with people that didn’t know him well enough to care to talk to him. They were even quiet in the prison – sure, people would talk, but not too loudly, scared of what the guards might do if they raised their voice.</p><p>Every dinner Jaskier’s ever known has been quiet.</p><p>Dinner at Vesemir’s house, with Geralt and his brothers, is loud and chaotic.</p><p>It’s filled with bickering and near-food-fights and Vesemir’s snappy comments that ‘<em>if you dare throw that, Lambert, I will make you clean the floor with a toothbrush’ </em>and insane drinking stories and raucous laughter and banter and playful insults. Jaskier’s always been one to fill the silence, but here, there is barely any silence <em>to </em>fill, and he finds himself not minding that one bit. He actually quite enjoys just sitting back and listening to arguments rise and die out in a matter of seconds, providing a comment here and there if he finds the opportunity to gently make fun of Geralt.</p><p>He loves every second of it.</p><p>He finds out Lambert is a mechanic. That he’s the youngest of the three and the one who’s still most prone to getting into trouble. That everyone considers it a miracle Geralt ended up in prison before Lambert. He learns from Vesemir that it’s also a miracle his hands aren’t covered in motor oil today, as they usually are.</p><p>He finds out Eskel is a veterinarian. That he particularly enjoys taking care of goats and horses, but that he has a soft spot for cows as well. That he’s the most well-behaved of the three brothers, and that he and Geralt are about the same age. He learns that people used to think they were twins, before Eskel got the scars that cover the right side of his face from a robbery gone wrong, where he’d been foolish and noble enough to jump between the robber and the store owner, saving the man’s life in the process. He learns that Eskel does not see it that way – that he thinks very lowly of himself.</p><p>But then again, Jaskier already kind of knew that.</p><p>He also learns that the others don’t know about the times Jaskier and Eskel met before.</p><p>He learns that Vesemir used to be a woodworker, that he came here from Poland in the belly of a boat with his mother holding him tight and promising that his father and brothers would be joining them soon. They never did. He learns that Vesemir is tough but fair and that he loves his three sons very much – though he does grow more exasperated by them by the day.</p><p>He finds himself wishing he had a father like Vesemir.</p><p>Because as run-down as this house can seem in places – a hole or two in the wall made by one of the brothers before they learned to manage their anger, some cupboard doors prone to falling off due to some roughhousing back in the day, water damage on the living room ceiling from that one time Lambert forgot to turn the bath off – it’s filled to the brim with <em>love </em>and <em>life.</em></p><p>It’s nothing like the cold, dead house Jaskier grew up in, every inch of it pristine and void of personality, every sound he made too loud even in his own ears.</p><p>This house is clearly well-loved, knickknacks littering the shelves, pictures hung on the walls with thumbtacks, full of chaos and noise and happiness.</p><p>And, somewhere deep down, he grieves the childhood he never had.</p><p>He looks up when he feels a soft hand in his, meeting familiar, amber eyes, and without words, Geralt tells him that he knows how Jaskier feels, and that he understands.</p><p>---</p><p>After dinner, he offers to do the dishes. Vesemir refuses, at first, but Jaskier insists on it – he would feel uncomfortable if he wasn’t allowed to help at least a little bit. Eventually, Vesemir relents, and Eskel gets up to help him clear the table, as Lambert brings out a deck of cards.</p><p>Jaskier sets down the stack of plates next to the sink, turning the tap on to let the basin fill with warm water, adding in a bit of dish soap. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he’s alone with Eskel, now, as the door closes behind Geralt’s brother, of the fact that he hasn’t been alone with Eskel since… well…</p><p>He decides to ignore it for now, and sets to washing the dishes, Eskel drying them, the only sounds in the kitchen the splashing of the water, the clattering of porcelain, and distant laughter and chatter between Geralt, Lambert, and Vesemir.</p><p>But the tension seems to grow and grow between them, both of them waiting for the other to speak, to acknowledge the elephant in the room and to say something about what happened. He can almost <em>feel </em>it, at the base of his spine, the way Eskel seems to hold his breath every time Jaskier slightly turns his head towards him, the silence stretching thick and heavy between them, the seconds that pass as they wait for either of them to snap.</p><p>“Jaskier, I-“ Eskel begins, at the same time as Jaskier says: “I don’t wanna talk about it.”</p><p>They look at each other for several seconds, frozen in time, until they both abruptly look away, resuming their tasks.</p><p>“Jaskier-“ Eskel starts again, but Jaskier’s quick to cut him off.</p><p>“Listen, Eskel. I really don’t wanna talk about it, alright? Whatever happened between us happened, and it’s all in the past now. It was my job, nothing more.”</p><p>He tells himself he only imagines the hurt look flashing across Eskel’s face. “Nothing more?” And, yeah, he’s definitely <em>not </em>imagining the hurt in that voice.</p><p>He sighs, shaking his head. “No, that wasn’t true, I’m sorry. I did consider you my friend.”</p><p>He remembers the few times Eskel visited, remembers running his fingers over those scars, telling him how beautiful he made them, remembers the tenderness with which Eskel treated him, remembers letting Eskel stay a little longer than was strictly necessary and for no extra pay, just to either hear him talk about nothing and everything, or just to lie there, enjoying each other’s company.</p><p>“But nothing more than a friend,” he adds. The truth. “And I love Geralt, I really do. It’s- it’s not like I’m in for the money we don’t have or- or anything like that-“</p><p>Eskel nods. “I know. I know you. And, uhm…” his ears blush an adorable pink “I did consider you my friend, too. And I would like to be friends again, if that’s alright.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles at him, something warm and fuzzy in his chest. “I would like that. But this time without the sex,” he adds quickly, and Eskel laughs.</p><p>“This time without the sex,” he agrees.</p><p>“Without the <em>what?</em>” comes Geralt’s voice from behind them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*banging pots and pans together* cliffhanger time! cliffhanger time! come get y'all cliffhangers fresh out the oven!</p><p>I'm on tumblr! @king-finnigan.<br/>Also, once again, don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment, because believe it or not, 1 comment = 1 can of paint to paint the flower shop with.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ugh. Okay, alright. I'm very nervous posting this chapter, but here goes, I guess.</p><p>Trigger warnings for past abuse, past non-con, and a callback to the sexual coercion by Johnson in chapter 2 of this fic.</p><p>(I did not plan for this to turn out as angsty as it did, but trust me, I'm really planning on making them happy again next chapter. Pinkie promise.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The three of them stand there for a few seconds, the silence stretching heavy and thick in the kitchen. Jaskier, as usual, is the first to break it.</p><p>“Geralt, I can explain.”</p><p>His Wolf levels him with a look, not too unkindly, but not as soft as Jaskier’s gotten used to. “I’m sure you can,” he deadpans.</p><p>“It happened before you and I met, alright? You know what I used to do- I was… offering services, and he was prepared to pay for them. It was nothing more than that.”</p><p>Geralt’s eyes soften, and he looks at Eskel, who nods in confirmation. “Nothing more than that. Honestly.”</p><p>His love heaves a deep sigh, then nods as well, crossing the space between them, trailing Jaskier’s cheekbone with gentle fingers. “Alright. I understand. The past is in the past, and if it’s nothing more than just a transaction, then I don’t care.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles, relief flooding his chest, and he presses a chaste kiss to Geralt’s lips. “Of course, my darling. I don’t love him the way I love you.”</p><p>Geralt’s fingers freeze, face suddenly tense, and too late, Jaskier realizes what he’s said. “But you <em>do </em>love him,” Geralt bites out.</p><p>“As a friend!” he says quickly, eyes darting between Geralt and Eskel, who very much seems to not want to be here, shrinking back against the wall. “As a friend, love, I swear.”</p><p>The door to the kitchen opens again, and Vesemir steps through. “It’s getting late, Geralt.” Grey eyes flicker between the three of them, and Vesemir frowns, definitely aware there’s <em>something </em>going on here, but he ignores it. “If you don’t wanna spend the night here, I think you should hit the road.”</p><p>Geralt nods and steps away from Jaskier, eyes tight, lips pressed together, the look he throws Jaskier telling him they’re very much not done talking about this.</p><p>After they’ve said their goodbyes to the rest, they head back home, back to the apartment. Jaskier’s curled up in his seat, fear and discomfort pooling in his stomach when he sees Geralt’s hands clenching around the steering wheel in the corner of his eye.</p><p>Eventually, he can’t take it any longer. “Geralt-“</p><p>“I’m driving, Jaskier.” His voice is low but commanding, strained in a way Jaskier’s rarely ever heard before and it does little to ease his discomfort. In fact, it only makes it worse. He understands the message beneath it, though – he can’t distract Geralt while they’re on the road; sure, his Wolf might be angry with him, but the last thing he wants to do is get either of them hurt.</p><p>So, he turns away, curling his knees up to his chest, hugging his stomach tightly as he looks out the window, watches the houses flit past, illuminated by the yellow light of the streetlamps.</p><p>When they finally get there, Geralt is out within seconds. He doesn’t wait for Jaskier as he starts walking up the stairs to the apartment, and Jaskier’s left on his own to unbuckle, get out, and close the car door behind him.</p><p>His footsteps echo on the cement steps of the stairs, and he flinches when he hears the door downstairs slam shut – he’s too easily startled, too on edge. He needs to calm down. Everything’s gonna be fine. After all, Geralt might be mad at him, but he still <em>loves </em>Jaskier, right?</p><p>Right?</p><p>He closes the door to the apartment behind him softly, watches Geralt’s back as he stands at the window, hands on the windowsill, shoulders tense.</p><p>“Geralt-“</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me?” He can practically <em>hear </em>the scowl in Geralt’s voice, and he resists the urge to shrink back in the corner, to beg Geralt not to be mad at him and <em>please, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything, please don’t hurt me, </em>just like he used to do when he was a little kid, when the resentment his parents held for him was too much for them to contain.</p><p>But this is <em>Geralt. </em>Geralt would never hurt him.</p><p>“W- what?”</p><p>“You two met a few weeks ago. You saw each other on the video call and you <em>recognized </em>him. I saw it. I didn’t know what it was, but I <em>saw </em>something, I saw your eyes change. You <em>knew. </em>And you didn’t fucking <em>bother to tell me </em>that you’ve fucked my brother, that you love him.”</p><p>“Geralt, I <em>don’t love him. </em>Not like that, not like I love you. He’s just a <em>friend. </em>And I love <em>you. </em>More than anything, Geralt.” His words fall on deaf ears, as Geralt laughs without humour, the sound cruel and angry enough to make Jaskier’s heart hurt.</p><p>“Oh, sure. It’s fine, then. If you love me, it’s okay to lie to my face.” He turns around suddenly, jaw set, scowl on his lips. “You weren’t even gonna tell me, were you? I only found out because I walked in on you two going behind my back.” He laughs again, incredulously. “Let me guess, you were <em>never</em> gonna tell me. You two were gonna keep me in the dark and I would’ve been none the wiser.”</p><p>“Geralt-“</p><p>His Wolf’s face falls suddenly, the scowl dropping away to make place for <em>hurt, </em>though the anger in his eyes doesn’t disappear. “Is he the only secret you’re trying to keep? Is he the only thing you’ve been lying to me about? What else don’t I know, Jaskier? <em>What else don’t I know?</em>”</p><p>He’s shouting now, and Jaskier can feel himself shrinking back into the corner, heart hammering in his throat, tears gathering in his eyes, and he resists the urge to clamp his hands over his ears.</p><p>He’s reminded all too much of his parents, of the teachers at the boarding school if he wasn’t getting the best grades, of clients on the streets when he dared turn them down, of the prison guards whenever he would put a toe out of line. He’s reminded all too much of <em>Johnson, </em>and something crawls beneath his skin.</p><p>He wants nothing more than to return to the safety of his Wolf’s arms, to be held and told everything’s gonna be fine – but it’s Geralt that’s yelling at him in the first place, it’s Geralt that’s making him feel this way.</p><p>“<em>Goddammit, Jaskier! </em>What’s next? Do I have to find out in five years that you fucked Lambert as well? My dad, too? Or maybe one of the wankers, or a prison guard?”</p><p>And if Jaskier hadn’t been painfully reminded of Johnson, before, he is, now. <em>I didn’t want to, </em>he wants to say, <em>he threatened me. </em>But his throat is seizing up, and he couldn’t say a word if he tried.</p><p>“Dammit, if you’re gonna act like a fucking whore, at least don’t lie to my face about it!”</p><p>And <em>oh, that really hurts, doesn’t it? </em>Geralt seems to realize he stepped out of line as well, his face suddenly falling, shoulders slumping, eyes growing wide and regretful.</p><p>“Jask, I’m sorry.” He crosses the space between them in two strides, but Jaskier looks away. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I didn’t-“ He reaches his hand out, but Jaskier bats it away.</p><p>“Don’t touch me,” he whispers, voice small and broken, even in his own ears.</p><p>“Jask, please-“ He reaches out again, but Jaskier just shrinks further back into the corner, knees buckling underneath him as he slides down the wall, arms coming up to shield his head.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, sobbing into his knees. “I’m sorry.” He hears the soft <em>thud </em>of Geralt’s knees hitting the floor next to him, tries to jerk away when he feels a soft touch at his shoulder. Though he fails miserably at creating distance between himself and those wandering hands due to the walls, the hands do retract, and he feels their heat, feels them hovering over him – waiting to strike, waiting until he lets his guard down before they hurt him.</p><p>“Jaskier, I’m the one who should say sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, shouldn’t have… said that.”</p><p>He barely registers Geralt’s words, just keeps rocking back and forth slightly, crying into his knees, waiting for the blow to land. He’s a child, waiting for his parents to finish taking out their anger on him. He’s a teen, regretting letting this stranger get near him, inexperienced enough in his profession to not see the warning signs before it was too late. He’s a man, bleeding out on a linoleum prison floor because he did see the warning signs, and tried everything in his might to stop it from happening again.</p><p>
  <em>If you’re gonna act like a fucking whore, at least don’t lie to my face about it.</em>
</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Jask… You have nothing to be sorry for.” But he does, doesn’t he?</p><p>
  <em>Do I have to find out in five years that you fucked Lambert as well? My dad, too? Or maybe one of the wankers, or a prison guard?</em>
</p><p>“I didn’t want to,” he whimpers, hiccupping his way through his words as tears continue streaming down his face and he should stop crying, he really should – most people don’t like it when he cries, it only makes them angrier, but some people do, and Jaskier doesn’t know which option is the worst one.</p><p>
  <em>Stop crying, stop crying, stop crying-</em>
</p><p>“Jask? What do you mean, you didn’t want to?” The soft voice hardens into something sharp and angry and Jaskier winces at the sound of it. <em>Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me- </em>“Did… did he force himself on you? Jaskier, did Eskel rape you?”</p><p>He shakes his head frantically. No, not Eskel- Eskel the sweetheart, that soft and gentle man, who always wore his heart on his sleeve, even when people couldn’t stop staring at his scars long enough to see it. Never Eskel.</p><p>“Then who? Jaskier?”</p><p><em>And what do we think we’re doing here, little man? You know you’re not allowed out at night. </em>Johnson’s voice rings out through his head and he nearly throws up at the memory.</p><p>“M- my fault- <em>my fault,</em> shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t…”</p><p>“Jask, Jaskier, hey.” Geralt’s voice is soft again, and this time Jaskier only barely flinches when light fingertips graze his shoulder. “Whatever happened to you wasn’t your fault. It’s not your fault.”</p><p>
  <em>I- I work in the kitchen, my shift starts at 4.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Really? Show me your hall pass, and I might believe you.</em>
</p><p>“I- I forgot- I didn’t <em>know-“ </em>A new round of sobs makes his chest ache, tears streaming down his face, wetting the fabric of his jeans.</p><p>Geralt shushes him gently, the pressure of his fingertips on Jaskier’s shoulder only increasing slightly, ready to be drawn away the second he shows any sign of discomfort. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, Jask.”</p><p>
  <em>I’m gonna have you thrown in solitary for this, buddy.</em>
</p><p>It’s quiet for a while, the silence only broken by Jaskier’s muffled whimpers and the creaking of the pipes in the walls.</p><p>Eventually, Geralt speaks up once more, voice soft and gentle: “Jaskier, w- when did it happen?”</p><p>“Night.”</p><p>“T- tonight?” Jaskier shakes his head. “<em>At </em>night, then?” He nods into his knees, hiccupping a bit. “And… was this before the prison or after? Or in prison?”</p><p>
  <em>Please don’t put me in solitary. I’ll do anything.</em>
</p><p>“In.”</p><p>“May- may I touch you?”</p><p>He takes a moment to consider the question. He doesn’t know why he even <em>needs </em>to consider – this is Geralt, and Geralt’s always been kind and gentle to him.</p><p>Except tonight. When he yelled at Jaskier, when he called him a whore.</p><p>He nods, nonetheless, and he feels a soft pressure at his shoulder when those fingertips turn into a full hand, a reassuring weight grounding him as a thumb rubs soft circles into his sweater.</p><p>“Jaskier, I have to ask you something. It’s okay if you don’t wanna answer, you don’t have to. But- who was it? Who hurt you?”</p><p>
  <em>Let me come down your pretty little throat and I’ll consider letting you off the hook.</em>
</p><p>The name rolls of his tongue, acrid and thick like bile. “J- Johnson.”</p><p>The hand tightens around his shoulder, and he can practically <em>feel </em>the anger emanating from Geralt. He shrinks back against the wall, the arms he lowered slightly coming up again to shield his head and neck.</p><p>“I’m sorry, <em>I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.”</em></p><p>He hears a soft intake of breath and the hand around his shoulder loosens its grip, rubs warmth into his skin. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Jask. I would never hurt you. I’m sorry for scaring you.”</p><p>And ever so slowly, two arms wind around his trembling form – giving him time enough to flinch away or shrink back or to tell him to go away in any way, shape or form. But Jaskier doesn’t. Instead, he lets himself go limp, just like those nice girls taught him when he was just starting out on the streets. <em>It hurts less, </em>they’d say, <em>just let it happen.</em></p><p>But no pain comes. Instead, he’s pulled against a solid, warm chest, a hand coming up to stroke at his hair gently, to wipe the tears away when he starts sobbing again. It’s so hard, so hard to remember that this is <em>Geralt, </em>and not some stranger ready to hurt him in the blink of an eye, not his parents, or his teachers, or Johnson.</p><p>It’s <em>Geralt.</em></p><p>“You’re safe, now,” Geralt mutters into his hair, as if he can read Jaskier’s mind. “You’re safe, it’s alright, you’re safe. I’ll kill that bastard for what he did to you.”</p><p>“G-Geralt…” He feels his Wolf relax minutely against him, feels the whisper of a kiss against the crown of his head as he buries his face into Geralt’s soft sweater. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it from happening. I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask for a hall pass that day. I’m sorry I gave in to his threats. I’m sorry I let him use me. I’m sorry for burdening you with this, now. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry I told you at all. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-</em>
</p><p>“It’s not your fault, my love.” <em>My love, my love, my love- </em>“It’s not your fault.”</p><p>Strong arms draw him closer, legs hooking around him, head bowing to nuzzle at the back of Jaskier’s neck, and he’s completely caged in, blanketed over by his Wolf, and he’s safe, he’s loved, he’s protected.</p><p>He’s <em>home.</em></p><p>The floor is hard beneath him, the winter cold creeping into his skin, but he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to break the peace – not in his head, not in the apartment.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Geralt’s grey sweater.</p><p>“Not your fault,” whispered equally as softly against the top of his head.</p><p>He’s home.</p><p>---</p><p>He sighs softly as his gaze follows the trail his fingers leave behind on Geralt’s skin, softly tracing the golden rays of sunshine that fall in through the window. Amber eyes blink open, and Geralt smiles at him, content for a few seconds, until realization seems to dawn on his face – until he seems to remember last night.</p><p>His Wolf furrows his brow slightly. “Hey.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles, twirling a strand of silver hair around his finger. “Hi.”</p><p>“How are you feeling?” He says it with such caution, such care, and something melts in Jaskier’s chest.</p><p>“I’m tired.”</p><p>“You… you seemed to be asleep pretty quickly, last night.”</p><p>“I was. And I slept really well, it’s just… I’m tired.”</p><p>Geralt’s eyes soften. “I understand.” Jaskier cups his hand around Geralt’s cheek, and his Wolf turns his head, nuzzling into his palm. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>He contemplates it for a few seconds, but he shakes his head. The bed is so warm and soft, and the sunlight casts everything in a golden sheen, and he’s- well, he’s tired. “Not right now, love.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Geralt whispers. “For getting angry with you. For yelling at you. I shouldn’t have done that, I was wrong.”</p><p>“It’s alright. I know you had some… issues, before Vesemir took you in.”</p><p>“All the more reason I should’ve been able to control myself.”</p><p>“Just… don’t do it again?”</p><p>“Never. I swear, I’ll never- I’ll never hurt you again. I’m sorry.” Geralt grasps his hand in his softly, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist, before crossing the narrow gap between them, softly kissing Jaskier’s jaw, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, before eventually settling against Jaskier’s lips. “I love you. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I love you, too,” Jaskier whispers. “And I forgive you.”</p><p>Geralt frowns a bit, and Jaskier hums thoughtfully, smoothing the wrinkles away with his thumb. “What’s on your mind, dear heart?”</p><p>Geralt shakes his head. “It’s… it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>“Well, now I am gonna worry about it. Come on, tell me, please?”</p><p>“It’s…” Geralt looks away. “It’s selfish. Forget about it.”</p><p>Jaskier scoffs, pressing their noses together. “You can be selfish. You <em>should </em>be selfish, sometimes.”</p><p>“Not this time.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Geralt closes his eyes, seems to shrink in on himself. “Because it’s… it’s <em>mean. </em>It’s… inconsiderate and rude, and I don’t wanna upset you.”</p><p>“Geralt,” he whispers, rubbing their noses together, giggling a bit when it tickles. “Trust me, there are probably worse things you can say.”</p><p>His Wolf sighs, opens his eyes again, but doesn’t meet Jaskier’s. “It’s just… what happened… is that the reason we haven’t… you know?”</p><p>“Had sex yet?” Geralt nods. Jaskier shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think it’s just that, with the renovation and learning about flowers and flower arrangements-“ he indicates with his head at the pile of library books on his nightstand “-I’m just too tired to. Too focused on literally sleeping with you to figuratively sleep with you.”</p><p>Geralt nods, and Jaskier doesn’t mention the relief in his eyes. “We… we should probably get out of bed. It’s late.”</p><p>Jaskier pouts. “But it’s nice and warm here.”</p><p>“Remember the last time you said that?” Geralt has the guts to grin, the cheeky bastard, and Jaskier glares at him.</p><p>“If I feel you press your cold-ass feet against my legs again, I <em>will </em>kill you, Geralt.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Geralt pretends to consider his options. “Will you, now?”</p><p>“I will. And I will shout it from the rooftops, that I have defeated the White Wolf, that I’m triumphant at last!” He narrows his eyes, bites his bottom lip. “Although, I don’t have to kill you to defeat you.”</p><p>Geralt frowns at him, though a small smile still plays around his lips. “Oh, really?”</p><p>In one swift movement, Jaskier’s pushed himself upright, swinging his leg over Geralt’s waist to straddle him, hands on his Wolf’s chest to stabilize himself. He shivers a bit as the cold air hits him like a blizzard, but he doesn’t yield his position. “I can think of another way,” he mutters.</p><p>Geralt smile fades a little, though his hands still settle on Jaskier’s hips off their own accord. “Jask, you don’t have to. I can wait- forever, if needs be.”</p><p>He smiles, trailing his fingers down Geralt’s chest, towards the hemline of his boxers, delighting in the little shiver that earns him. “I understand. But I want to.” He grins as he rolls his hips experimentally, feeling Geralt’s cock fatten up under his. “Seems to me you want it, too.”</p><p>Geralt frowns at him. “I- I do, but… not right now. I just… need some time, I guess.”</p><p>Jaskier feels something sink in his stomach. “Is it because of what I told you last night? Is it because I’m damaged goods?”</p><p>Geralt sits up, pulling Jaskier to his chest, rubbing circles into his back as he trembles – both from the cold and from the hurt. “No! No, not at all.” He moves back a bit to press their foreheads together. “You’re <em>not </em>damaged goods, Jaskier, and I don’t want you any less. It’s just…” He shakes his head. “I’m angry. I’m angry at Johnson for what he did to you, and I just need some time to give that anger a place. I don’t wanna lose control and hurt you. Not again.”</p><p>He nods, sighing deeply, relief uncoiling the knot in his chest. “I understand.”</p><p>“I love you, Jask. More than anything.”</p><p>“I love you too, Geralt.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Again, I'm very nervous posting this chapter, since it deals with some sensitive stuff, so please do let me know what you think, I'd really appreciate it.</p><p>Also the next chapter might take a few days longer than usual, since I'm working on a fic that requires continuity, so that one's probably gonna take up most of my time for the next week or so to make sure I don't like, mess up details and stuff. (It should be coming soon, and I'll let you guys know when it's finally up.)(It's a murder mystery, btw)</p><p>I'm on tumblr, @king-finnigan.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out, that other fic is taking a lot longer than I thought it would. (Though I should've known. It's, like, 50k words at this point.)</p>
<p>You might have noticed that the chapter counter has been updated. Yes, this fic is ending with the next chapter. I'm sorry. I'm really really happy that you guys like it and the feedback has been great, but I simply don't have a story left to tell, and I don't wanna drag this out until I start to hate it. <br/>I have about 2 or 3 ideas left for the last chapter, but I know for a fact it's not enough to make an actual chapter out of it, so if there are any things you still wanna see happen in this fic, drop them in the comments, and I'll see what I can do!</p>
<p>As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Up, down. </em>His eyes follow his brush as it leaves a trail of white in its wake, bumping over the small ridges of mortar between the bricks. <em>Up, down. </em>He makes sure not to get anything on the windows, being extra careful as he traces the edge of the wall.</p>
<p>He hears footsteps stumbling up the stairs, the crinkle of plastic bags and Jaskier’s soft humming coming ever closer, and he can’t help but smile.</p>
<p>He looks over his shoulder to see his love, who nearly on the last step of the stairs, but manages to remain upright somehow, nearly dropping the bags of takeout in his flailing.</p>
<p>“Careful,” Geralt says. “One of these days, you’re gonna get food all over the walls.”</p>
<p>Jaskier grins at him, dumping the bags on the floor unceremoniously in the middle of the empty room before walking over to where Geralt’s standing. They exchange a soft kiss and Jaskier leans cheek on Geralt’s shoulder, looping his arms around his waist, looking out the window next to them.</p>
<p>“It’s alright. I know you’ll just paint over it if I do.”</p>
<p>He laughs softly, raising his arm to return to his work. “Hmm. Or maybe I’ll make <em>you </em>paint over it.”</p>
<p>Jaskier snorts. “Dear heart, you would never. And besides-“ Geralt can hear the dramatic pout in his voice “-that would be awfully mean of you. After all, I’ve been terribly injured in the past. My chest still hurts every time I have to lift a finger, you know.”</p>
<p>His cheeks hurt with how wide he’s smiling – something he’s still having trouble getting used to. Not that he minds getting used to it, of course. Of all the types of pain Geralt’s had to endure in his life, this is by far the best one.</p>
<p>“Right, yeah. Is that why you haven’t been helping with the shop?”</p>
<p>Jaskier gasps, outraged, his breath puffing against the sensitive shell of Geralt’s ear as Jaskier rests his cheek on his shoulder. “I <em>have </em>been helping!”</p>
<p>“By commanding me around?”</p>
<p>“It’s called moral support, Geralt!”</p>
<p>He laughs again, finishing the last patch of the wall, dropping the brush on the plastic covers on the floor, his hand finding Jaskier’s, splayed on Geralt’s stomach. “You can’t exactly morally support the shop into something presentable, though.”</p>
<p>“I can and I will! By the time I’m done, those walls will be oozing so much confidence that… that…”</p>
<p>“That what?”</p>
<p>With an annoyed huff, Jaskier shoves himself away from Geralt’s back. “Ugh! You get what I mean.”</p>
<p>He turns around, pulling Jaskier close again and burying his nose into the crook of his love’s neck, breathing in lavender and takeout. “I really don’t. Please do enlighten me.”</p>
<p>Jaskier giggles, pushing at his shoulders, though Geralt doesn’t budge. “Love, please, you’re gonna get paint all over me.”</p>
<p>“Oh, really?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, I really don’t like that tone of yours-“</p>
<p>Geralt quickly lets go of Jaskier in favour of reaching for the discarded paintbrush, holding it in front of him like a weapon. Jaskier shrieks and makes a move to run away, but trips over his own feet, hand shooting out and clinging to Geralt’s shirt for support, effectively managing to drag them both down.</p>
<p>Geralt lands on top of Jaskier, holding the paintbrush right over his love’s head, who’s struggling to get away, cheeks flushed as he laughs uncontrollably.</p>
<p>“Let me go, you madman!”</p>
<p>Geralt bares his teeth, but he’s probably grinning rather than scowling. “Never. You’re mine now, little birdie.”</p>
<p>Jaskier stills, eyes glinting in the golden afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows. “Oh, my, mister Wolf. Whatever are you gonna do with me now?”</p>
<p>Geralt smiles and bends down, his lips ghosting over Jaskier’s. “Whatever, indeed…”</p>
<p>They stay like that for a few seconds, millimetres away from kissing, until Jaskier gets impatient and moves closer. Geralt uses the opportunity to sit upright again, replacing his lips with the paintbrush he’s still holding, covering the lower half of Jaskier’s face with white paint.</p>
<p>“Geralt, you beast!”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“That one’s supposed to go there.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s not.”</p>
<p>“It says so in the manual, Geralt.”</p>
<p>“I don’t <em>care </em>about the manual.”</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs, rolling his eyes theatrically. “Look, if we’re gonna put together this damn Läckö successfully, we’re gonna have to look at the manual, <em>Geralt.</em>”</p>
<p>“I know what I’m doing.”</p>
<p>“Like hell you do.”</p>
<p>Geralt sighs, teeth grinding together so hard his jaw hurts. “I know. What I’m doing.”</p>
<p>Jaskier narrows his eyes at him, before picking up a packet of screws. “Alright. If you <em>know what you’re doing,</em> then tell me where these are supposed to go.”</p>
<p>He stares at the screws for a long time, before admitting defeat. He absolutely has no idea where those are meant to go.</p>
<p>He snatches the piece of paper out of Jaskier’s hand, who – annoyingly so – grins in triumph. “Give me that damn manual.”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p><em>Up, down. </em>His eyes follow his brush as it leaves a trail of dark green in its wake, bumping over the small ridges in the wood of the door. <em>Up, down. </em>He makes sure not to get anything on the glass panes, tracing the edges carefully.</p>
<p>He feels eyes on him, though he doesn’t know who they are or where they are. He ignores it for now, and keeps on painting.</p>
<p>Ten minutes later, when he’s finally done with the door, he drops the brush on a piece of plastic, wiping his hands on a rag as he takes a step back to admire his work. Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he turns his head to see a girl, standing a few feet away from him, staring at him with big, green eyes.</p>
<p>She can’t be more than six, and when she sees him looking, she grins at him, revealing a large gap between her front teeth.</p>
<p>“H… hi,” he says.</p>
<p>“Hello!”</p>
<p>He blinks at her a few moments, as she continues staring at him.</p>
<p>“C- can I help you with something?”</p>
<p>“No!” The grin is still plastered to her face, and Geralt can’t help the spark of curiosity that lights in his chest.</p>
<p>“I’m Geralt. Geralt Rivia.”</p>
<p>“I’m Ciri!”</p>
<p>He crouches down, extending his green-smudged hand to her. She takes it, shaking it once with a serious furrow of her brow, before letting go, that infectious grin plastered on her face again.</p>
<p>“Nice to meet you, Ciri. How long have you been standing there?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know! Gran-gran says it’s because I’m a child and I have no concept of time.”</p>
<p>He feels his eyebrows shoot up, fights to keep the corners of his mouth from tugging up into an amused smile. “Oh, really? Well, I’m sure you’ll get a concept of time soon.”</p>
<p>“I doubt it!” she declares brightly. “Do you live here, Geralt Rivia?”</p>
<p>“You can just call me Geralt. And yes, I do. I live here with my boyfriend.”</p>
<p>It’s still weird to refer to Jaskier as his ‘boyfriend’. After all they’ve been through, he feels like something official-sounding such as ‘husband’ would fit better, but it’s far too soon for that step, yet. Besides, Jaskier might want him as a boyfriend, but as a husband? That’s a whole other story.</p>
<p>Ciri points to the house next door. “I live there, Geralt Rivia. We must be neighbours, then!”</p>
<p>He nods, smile slowly spreading over his face. “So it would seem.”</p>
<p>“My gran-gran said I shouldn’t talk with you.”</p>
<p>He frowns. “And why’s that?”</p>
<p>“Cause you’re big and scary.”</p>
<p>He presses his lips together, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”</p>
<p>“I’m not big and scary.” She brightens up even more all of a sudden, though – how that’s possible, Geralt doesn’t know. “You should be my friend! That way you can be big and scary and I can be not big and scary but the bullies will still leave me alone.”</p>
<p>He frowns again, concern lacing through the fondness he holds for this strange, little girl. “Bullies? Are you getting bullied, Ciri?”</p>
<p>She shakes her head, her blonde hair flying around her shoulders. “No! But gran-gran always says that if I’m getting bullied, I should punch them.” She steps closer, lowering her voice to a loud whisper as if she’s about to tell him her biggest secret. “But I don’t wanna punch people, Geralt Rivia. Even if they are bullies.”</p>
<p>He smiles at her, fuzzy warmth enveloping his heart. “Don’t worry, Ciri. I’ll be big and scary enough for the both of us.”</p>
<p>She grins at him, bouncing up and down on her feet, but before either of them can say anything, a woman’s voice calls out, hurried footsteps approaching them.</p>
<p>“Cirilla! Cirilla!” A woman appears in the door to the house where Ciri lives, looking relieved when she sees the girl there on the sidewalk, though when her eyes fall on Geralt, her face hardens.</p>
<p>She turns to the girl, gently laying her hand on Ciri’s shoulder. “Cirilla, I told you not to wander off without telling me. I was worried.”</p>
<p>“It’s alright, gran-gran! I was just talking to Geralt Rivia.”</p>
<p>He stands up straight, nodding a greeting to the woman as she glares at him. “Nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>“Hmm. Calanthe.” She turns her scrutinizing gaze to the half-finished shop. “So what are you planning to do with this old thing?”</p>
<p>He smiles lightly. “Me and my-“ <em>husband </em>“-boyfriend are going to open a flower shop.”</p>
<p>“Boyfriend?” <em>Uh-oh. </em>She scowls at him with barely-hidden disgust. <em>Here we go. </em>“Think something more… official than ‘boyfriend’ would be in order before opening a shop together, don’t you think? Seems a bit rushed.”</p>
<p>He lets out a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Well, you see…” He scratches at the back of his neck. “We haven’t been together for a long time but… I already know I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him.”</p>
<p>She rolls her eyes, though something akin to a smile tugs at her lips. “Ugh. Sappy bullshit. You and Eist would get along so well.”</p>
<p>“Bullshit!” Ciri pipes up, and Calanthe nods.</p>
<p>“Bullshit, indeed, Cirilla. Now, go on, go back inside, it’s almost lunchtime.”</p>
<p>Ciri gives Geralt one last grin, before running through the door to her house.</p>
<p>Calanthe turns back to Geralt, brown eyes still steely, though a lot less scrutinizing than they were before. “Keep an eye on her, would you?” she asks. “She has a knack for running off, so if you see her passing by without me or my husband, please do tell us.”</p>
<p>“I will,” Geralt promises.</p>
<p>“And if your damn shop ruins my peace and quiet, I will make your life a living hell.” He nods quickly, and she looks him up and down for half a second, before turning back to her own house. “Nice meeting you, Geralt Rivia.”</p>
<p>And with that, she’s gone.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He can’t help but smile as he sets the table, listening to the raised voices coming from the kitchen.</p>
<p>“You need water to cook pasta!”</p>
<p>“How the hell was I supposed to know that?”</p>
<p>“You’re in your <em>thirties! </em>How do you <em>not</em> know that? What, are you living off of takeout alone?”</p>
<p>“Maybe!”</p>
<p>“Lambert! That’s not healthy!”</p>
<p>“<em>You’re </em>not healthy!” He can almost imagine the finger Lambert’s pointing at Jaskier to go along with his childish tone.</p>
<p>An offended gasp. He has the feeling Jaskier’s crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I am <em>perfectly healthy, </em>thank you very much!”</p>
<p>The smoke alarm starts beeping, and Vesemir comes storming into the dining room, headed for the kitchen, towel around his waist. “<em>What the hell is going on in here?”</em></p>
<p>Geralt and Eskel exchange an amused look as Lambert and Jaskier simultaneously give Vesemir an “It was his fault!” Probably complete with a finger pointed at the other one.</p>
<p>“<em>Why is the pasta on fire?”</em></p>
<p>Dinners at Vesemir’s house have become a weekly occurrence, now that Geralt’s out of prison and Lambert permanently in town – he moved back after spending a year or so in the countryside, repairing cars and tractors for chump change. And while it’s far from quiet or peaceful – quite the opposite, really – it is one of Geralt’s favourite nights of the week.</p>
<p>But <em>gods, </em>can it be draining sometimes.</p>
<p>“What do you mean, you didn’t know pasta needed water? Dammit, Lambert, <em>you’re thirty damn years old!”</em></p>
<p>“My thoughts exactly!” Jaskier interjects.</p>
<p>“Don’t you go running your mouth, boy. <em>You </em>left the stove on after you found out there was no water in the pot! Look at it! The pasta’s on <em>fire!”</em></p>
<p>“Alright, yeah, fair enough,” he hears Jaskier mumble, as Lambert cackles. He’s quickly shut up by Vesemir’s voice again, though.</p>
<p>“You better watch out or I’m grounding you for a whole month.”</p>
<p>Lambert splutters a bit. “Wh- wait! You can’t ground me! You’re not my dad!”</p>
<p>Geralt and Eskel roll their eyes at each other. Lambert’s used those words a million times before, even though every single one of them knows he <em>considers </em>Vesemir his dad. They all do. Never stopped Lambert from being a little shit, though.</p>
<p>“Oh my God, Lambert, you don’t even live with him anymore, he can’t ground you.”</p>
<p>“<em>Watch me,</em>” he hears Vesemir hiss out. “<em>Fucking watch me. </em>And you, too, Jaskier, I’ll ground you before you can say ‘pasta water’. Now both of you, shut up, go put out that damn fire, and let me finish my <em>goddamn shower.”</em></p>
<p>Vesemir slams the door to the kitchen behind him, shutting out the incessant beeping of the fire alarm as he makes his way back to the bathroom. He glares at Geralt and Eskel when he sees the amused looks they’re exchanging.</p>
<p>“That counts for the both of you, too. Stop grinning like children and continue setting the table.”</p>
<p>Geralt pulls the corners of his mouth down and nods, letting his hair shield his face as he starts putting down the cutlery.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He looks around the apartment one last time, making sure he didn’t miss anything. He smiles when he spots a stray sock under the living room table – one half of Jaskier’s favourite pair – and adjusts the box in his arms so he can reach down and take it, stuffing it into his pocket.</p>
<p>It’s weird, leaving this apartment, after all these years. He remembers when he just moved here; fresh out of college, with a degree and not a clue about what he was gonna do with his life, his only possessions a box full of clothes and a plant that died a week after he moved in.</p>
<p>And now- now, he’s got a whole lot more clothes, thanks to Jaskier and his insistence that Geralt wear at least <em>something </em>that isn’t black, a house full of plants that will probably survive for longer than a week – also thanks to Jaskier – and, well, Jaskier himself.</p>
<p>It’s strange to realize that his life stayed much the same for years on end, only to change in the blink of an eye the second a blue-eyed man with no self-preservation skills sat down at his lunch table. He’d known going to prison would change his life forever, but he never could’ve guessed that it would end up like this.</p>
<p>He hasn’t seen the old lady he punched that cop for since he got out, and he hopes that she got a place to actually stay, that she’s now off the streets for good and lives the rest of her days safe, happy, warm, and sated.</p>
<p>She probably just found a different alleyway to sleep in, though, but it’s nice to fantasize.</p>
<p>He takes one last look around the apartment, and when he finds it as barren as it was when he first moved in here, he heads out the door, locking it behind him one last time.</p>
<p>His neighbour, Sabrina, passes him by, her arms full of bags of groceries, but she stops in her tracks when she sees him.</p>
<p>“So you’re really moving out, then, huh?” she asks, and Geralt nods. “Well, I’m glad that you’re finally getting out of this shithole. At least one of us is.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure you’ll get your chance.” He’s about to walk away when he changes his mind, turning back around. “That old lady that used to stand at the corner of the street- do you know what happened to her?”</p>
<p>She frowns. “Visenna? She died. Hypothermia. Fringilla was the one to find her- it wasn’t pretty.”</p>
<p>He nods, before heading for the stairs. In all the years he saw her at that corner of the street, he never bothered to learn the lady’s name. Hell, he even went to jail for her, and he still never had a proper conversation with her.</p>
<p>Oh, well. Hypothermia isn’t the best way to go, but it still beats starvation or dehydration, he supposes.</p>
<p>When he gets into the car with Jaskier, who’s been waiting outside for him, he doesn’t mourn Visenna. He didn’t know her well enough to.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He sighs happily, burying his nose in the back of Jaskier’s neck, the small hairs tickling his skin as he breathes in paint and flowers. Jaskier giggles lightly, intertwining the fingers of his left hand with Geralt’s, splayed on Jaskier’s stomach, his right hand still holding the spatula.</p>
<p>“Everything alright, love?”</p>
<p>Geralt nods, pulling Jaskier a little bit closer, basking in the warmth of his skin, his heart feeling like it’s three sizes too big for his chest. “Hmm. Just thinking.”</p>
<p>“Oh, please, do enlighten me. What are you thinking about, my Wolf?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head a bit, hand tightening in Jaskier’s sweater, the fabric soft against his skin. He’s never been a man of words, and he has no idea how to express the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest, how it consumes him every day and how he’s so, so scared he might lose it- lose <em>Jaskier, </em>one day<em>.</em></p>
<p>“Geralt?” Jaskier whispers, putting down the spatula, turning off the stove. “Geralt, my love, talk to me.”</p>
<p>He shakes his head again, his eyes stinging with tears unshed. Jaskier turns around in his arms, pulling him to his chest, carding his fingers through the shorter hairs at Geralt’s nape, and the gesture is so <em>soft </em>and <em>loving </em>and suddenly it’s too much. Geralt buries his head in Jaskier’s neck, letting the tears fall.</p>
<p>“I…” He’s shaking, hands tightening in Jaskier’s sweater again, and he can’t get his love close enough, every single atom between them too much. “I love you. <em>So much</em>.” His voice breaks, and Jaskier sighs softly, pressing a firm kiss to the side of his head.</p>
<p>“I know, dear heart. I love you too. So- so much it hurts, sometimes, like my chest can’t contain everything I feel for you. Like if I look at you for too long, my heart will just burst open.”</p>
<p>Geralt finds himself nodding along. He’s never been a man of words, but luckily Jaskier has enough for the both of them. “I- I just… I don’t wanna lose you.”</p>
<p>He feels Jaskier’s arms tightening around him. “You won’t. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” They both laugh quietly. “You’re stuck with me, now,” Jaskier whispers.</p>
<p>He shakes his head again. “Not stuck,” he mutters. “Never stuck.” He’d happily devote the rest of his life to Jaskier, if Jaskier would let him.</p>
<p>“I love you, Geralt.”</p>
<p>“I love you, too, Jask.” And while those three words could never express the way he feels, he knows Jaskier understands. He always does.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p><em>Up, down. </em>His eyes follow the piece of sandpaper he’s holding as it smooths down the sharp edges of the counter he made. <em>Up, down. </em>He makes sure to get every little splinter, to round off every sharp edge and corner, so that he’s sure Jaskier won’t hurt himself on this thing.</p>
<p>“Oh, hello.” He looks up at Jaskier’s voice, to find his love looking at Ciri, who’s standing in the middle of the store, staring at the sign Jaskier’s painting with big eyes.</p>
<p>Jaskier cocks his head when Ciri doesn’t answer, still mesmerized by the green, curling letters spelling out <em>‘Petals and Leaves Flower Shop’. </em></p>
<p>“My name is Jaskier,” he tries, and that does draw her attention, her eyes tearing away from the sign. “What’s your name?”</p>
<p>“I’m Ciri.”</p>
<p>“Well, Ciri, it’s nice to meet you.” He turns to look at Geralt, who’s now leaning his forearms on the counter, watching them interact. “That’s my boyfriend-“</p>
<p>“Geralt Rivia,” Ciri fills in for him, and she grins broadly. “We met.”</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles, pulling his eyebrows up at Geralt. “Have you, now?”</p>
<p>He nods. “A few days ago. She lives next door.”</p>
<p>Jaskier lets out an exaggerated, happy gasp, turning back to Ciri. “Really? So we’re neighbours, then!”</p>
<p>Ciri lifts up her chin proudly. “So it would seem,” she announces.</p>
<p>“Does your granny know you’re here?” Geralt asks, and Ciri grins, shaking her head. “She’s gonna be worried, Ciri.”</p>
<p>She purses her lips. “I guess.”</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you what, Ciri,” Jaskier says, exchanging an amused look with Geralt, “how about you go tell your granny you’re here, and when you come back, I’ll teach you all about flowers. Would you like that?”</p>
<p>She nods eagerly, before taking off, running out the door. Jaskier turns back to Geralt. “Cute kid.”</p>
<p>He smiles. “She is.”</p>
<p>They spend the rest of the afternoon like that; Jaskier teaching Ciri about flowers and their meaning and telling her all about the shop and how he’s looking forward to finally opening it, as Geralt continues working on the counter, giving it the finishing touches, keeping an eye on Jaskier and Ciri as he does so.</p>
<p>That night, as he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling as Jaskier snores next to him, the afternoon plays in his head on loop, accompanied with the fleeting thought of how good a father Jaskier would be.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He sighs when he opens the door to the store, locking it again behind him. He just brought back Vesemir’s power drill, after his own broke a week ago – but since the shop is nearly finished, he won’t need it anymore.</p>
<p>He’s looking forward to spending the evening on the couch with Jaskier, eat take-out and watch Netflix. He knows that, once the shop actually opens, the evenings will get a lot busier, and they won’t have time for nights like this anymore.</p>
<p>He’s pulled out of his thoughts, though, when something heavy falls upstairs, followed by Jaskier’s voice saying something, commanding but with an edge of desperation. Geralt frowns.</p>
<p>“Jaskier?” he calls out? “Jaskier, is everything alright?”</p>
<p>He hears quick footsteps running down the stairs, before the door to the hallway opens and Jaskier rushes out, immediately slamming it shut behind him, leaning against it. He’s out of breath, his hair tousled and his clothes askew, and for half a second – as the loud noises continue upstairs, as if someone’s stumbling about – Geralt fears the worst.</p>
<p>“Ah, Geralt! You’re, ah… you’re back early. I hadn’t expected you home yet.”</p>
<p>“Jaskier, what’s going on?”</p>
<p>Jaskier stares at him with wide eyes, swallowing thickly. “Promise me you won’t be mad.”</p>
<p>Something in his stomach sinks, and he can’t help but feel like his worst suspicions are confirmed: Jaskier’s finally realized Geralt’s not good enough for him, and he’s found someone who is.</p>
<p>“I won’t,” he mutters, ignores the stinging in his eyes. “I understand. I’ll… I’ll pack my things and go.”</p>
<p>Jaskier blinks. “Wait- what? Geralt, what are you talking about?”</p>
<p>“You’ve found someone else. It’s alright-“</p>
<p>Jaskier barks out a laugh, and this time it’s Geralt’s turn to be confused. Jaskier laughs again, extending his hand. “That’s not- Come on, you big idiot, let me show you.”</p>
<p>Geralt frowns, but takes Jaskier’s hand, following him up the stairs. The noises grow louder as the ascend, and eventually, they step into the living room. It’s a big mess – the couch pillows strewn around, several vases knocked over, books laying on the floor – and in the middle of the rampage stands a large German Shepherd.</p>
<p>“Her name’s Roach. At least, that’s what the lady at the shelter said her previous owners named her- the dog, I mean, not the lady at the front desk-“</p>
<p>“Jaskier, what the fuck?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm on tumblr, @king-finnigan! Follow me there if you wanna see some stupid Witcher headcanons ig. (And follow me here if you wanna be updated when I start posting new fic. I'm working on the second draft of an angsty one, of which the first chapter will probably come out before ch 17 of this fic, and a fluffy one that's very much in the works.)</p>
<p>Again! Please don't hesitate to leave kudos and especially a comment with things you want me to write in the last chapter, and I'll see what I can do!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay. Holy shit. I can't believe it's already the last chapter of this fic, but I guess it is.<br/>I just wanna say thank you to every single one of you who left kudos or a comment on this fic. I never expected it to blow up as much as it did, and all the support really means a lot to me. Thank you all so much. You guys really make me happy.</p>
<p>Now, one last time (for this fic), thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We are not keeping the dog.”</p>
<p>Jaskier pouts at a frowning Geralt. “Well, you can’t just bring her back! That’d be so mean!”</p>
<p>Geralt seems unaffected by Jaskier’s puppy eyes – which is something Jaskier’s <em>definitely </em>not used to – and simply raises an eyebrow. “What’s mean is you giving her false hope. You should’ve asked me first.”</p>
<p>He gasps theatrically. “I am <em>not </em>mean! Take that back!”</p>
<p>“<em>Jaskier.</em>”</p>
<p>He sighs, relenting. “Alright, maybe I should’ve asked you first, but…”</p>
<p>“But what?”</p>
<p>“I actually don’t have an excuse. I just really wanted a dog, and I figured you wanted one too.”</p>
<p>Geralt sighs, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb between his eyebrows. “How old is she?”</p>
<p>He tries not to let the spark of hope he’s feeling show. “Three.”</p>
<p>“Is she trained?”</p>
<p>“The lady at the shelter said she is.”</p>
<p>Geralt sighs again, throwing his arms up in defeat. “<em>Fine! </em>Fine.” He looks at Jaskier as Roach shuffles around the living room, sniffing at the various things she’s knocked to the floor. “I’ll give her one month. If I don’t like her by the end of that month, she’s going back.”</p>
<p>Jaskier can’t hide the smile that spreads across his face. “Oh, don’t worry! I assure you you’ll love her,” he says brightly, as Roach bites into a couch pillow.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He sighs contentedly, listening as the rain pitter-patters against the windows, watching the light of the streetlamps project the rivulets that stream down the glass onto the wall. His hand absentmindedly comes up to rub at the scar in his chest – it always aches a bit when it rains, a gentle reminder of the things he went through to get to where he is now.</p>
<p>Really, there are many things in his life that he regrets, but if he had the chance to do it all again, he wouldn’t change a thing. Because he’s here now, right where he wants- <em>needs </em>to be, in the arms of his love.</p>
<p>Geralt hums against his back, and Jaskier doesn’t need to see him to know that his lips are curled into a soft smile. “Think I was born to do his,” he mumbles.</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles. “Born to do what?”</p>
<p>Another soft hum, and Geralt nuzzles into Jaskier’s skin further, warm breath puffing against his back. “Press my head between your shoulder blades.”</p>
<p>Jaskier chuckles softly, fingers tracing soft patterns into the arm Geralt’s slung around his middle, an arm that starts its own path, fingertips trailing down his stomach gently, before pushing below the hem of Jaskier’s boxers.</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs, though, and pulls Geralt’s wrist back up again, until his love’s hand is splayed against his stomach once more. “Not tonight, dear heart. I’m sorry. That gunshot wound is hurting again-“</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Geralt mumbles into his skin, “you don’t have to explain or apologize.”</p>
<p>Jaskier sighs, pouting slightly. “Don’t wanna leave you hanging, though.”</p>
<p>Geralt chuckles. “It’s fine, don’t worry.”</p>
<p>He twists his neck to look over his shoulder. “I can give you a blowjob, I know you like those.”</p>
<p>Geralt lifts his head to frown at him, though a smile still plays across his lips. “How do you know that? You’ve never given me one.”</p>
<p><em>Oh. Oh no. </em>He’d forgotten Geralt didn’t know about the glory hole incident. “Ah, well,” he mutters, “not that you <em>know </em>of.”</p>
<p>Geralt makes a face, thoroughly confused. He’s been doing that more and more, the longer Jaskier knows him: making faces, showing his emotions more clearly, especially if they involve more than smiling a little or frowning a lot. It’s adorable, and Jaskier loves it.</p>
<p>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</p>
<p>He makes a face of his own. “You remember that glory hole back in the prison?”</p>
<p>“Well, yeah, I do. But I only went once, and- Wait, are you telling me that was you?”</p>
<p>He grins. “If you’re the guy with the deep voice that said my name when he came, then yeah, that was me.”</p>
<p>Geralt lets out a hearty laugh, dropping himself back down on the pillows, grinning at the ceiling. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The <em>one </em>time I go to a glory hole…”</p>
<p>“It was my only time too, if you can believe that. So you’re not mad?”</p>
<p>Geralt shakes his head, pressing his nose against Jaskier’s as he continues to smile. “No, of course not- hell, I’m <em>relieved. </em>At least I didn’t make a fool of myself in front of a complete stranger. Why didn’t you say something sooner, though?”</p>
<p>“Would you have?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head again. “No, I suppose not. Thank you for telling me, though. I needed a good laugh.”</p>
<p>Jaskier giggles, pushing Geralt’s face away with his hand. “Ugh! You’re insufferable.”</p>
<p>Geralt ducks under his flailing arms, gathering him in his arms and pressing his face against Jaskier’s neck, his breath tickling the shell of his ear. “Hmm. You love me, though.”</p>
<p>He laughs again, cheeks and stomach starting to hurt. “God help me, I really do.”</p>
<p>“There’s no God here to help you, little one,” Geralt mumbles into his neck, and before Jaskier has the chance to ask what he means by that, Geralt’s fingers have already found his sides, spidering against his skin.</p>
<p>Jaskier shrieks, flailing in his attempts to get away from Geralt’s tickling hands. He manages to worm his way out of his love’s arms, somehow, giggling and out of breath as he scoots backwards over the bed.</p>
<p>Geralt sits up on his knees, one hand shooting out to grab Jaskier’s ankle, holding him in place as the other hand inches towards the sole of his foot.</p>
<p>“No!” Jaskier warns. “Don’t you fucking dare, Geralt Rivia! Nono<em>nononono</em>-“ He shrieks again when Geralt’s fingers make contact with the sensitive underside of his foot, and he flails again, his other, non-trapped leg kicking out on reflex.</p>
<p>His heel hits Geralt’s left eye.</p>
<p>Geralt’s grip slacks in shock, and Jaskier manages to work himself up on his knees, hands coming up to cradle Geralt’s face, turning him this way and that to look at the angry, red spot that’s starting to form around his amber eye.</p>
<p>“Geralt, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that, does it hurt? I’m <em>so sorry-“</em></p>
<p>Geralt’s hands softly grasp his wrists, lips folding into a smile. “It’s alright, Jask. It was an accident. I should’ve seen it coming.” He makes another one of his oh-so-adorable faces. “Though I think I won’t be able see a lot of things coming in the near future.”</p>
<p>“Geralt,” Jaskier whines, “stop trying to make me feel better.”</p>
<p>“Never,” Geralt mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s really alright. I can barely feel it anymore.”</p>
<p>He pouts. “You’re a terrible liar, my Wolf.” He extracts his hands from Geralt’s, and pushes himself to the side of the bed. “I’ll get you some ice, though, that should help!”</p>
<p>He tries to stand up, but realizes too late that his legs are tangled in the bedsheets. He falls, face-first, against the side of the bed and one of the bedposts.</p>
<p>It’s how they both end up with a black eye.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“Don’t you fucking dare say anything,” Geralt growls to his brothers in lieu of a greeting, a few days later at the weekly family dinner.</p>
<p>Lambert puts up his hands in surrender, a barely-suppressed smile on his face. “Wouldn’t dare,” he says. “I have to ask, though, why do you have a dog with you?”</p>
<p>“This is Roach!” Jaskier says brightly, crouching down to scratch her neck, her tail thumping against the floor. “We don’t really trust her enough to leave her alone yet.”</p>
<p>“Is she responsible for your black eyes?” Vesemir asks from where he leans against the doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyebrow pulled up in a way that Jaskier knows indicates he finds this entire situation <em>hilarious. </em>“Or was that your own stupid fault?”</p>
<p>Jaskier presses his lips together. “No, both of those were my fault.”</p>
<p>“As well as the dog,” Geralt grumbles.</p>
<p>“Oh, please. I know you love her.”</p>
<p>Vesemir shakes his head. “These two,” he mumbles to himself. “Lambert, Jaskier, in the kitchen with me. Eskel and Geralt, set the table. Look after that dog, too.”</p>
<p>As Jaskier chops the carrots in the kitchen, he hears Eskel and Geralt talking softly in the dining room.</p>
<p>“The uhm… the black eye… It doesn’t have anything to do with… what happened between me and Jaskier, does it?” Eskel asks, and Jaskier smiles involuntarily at how shy he sounds. Eskel sounded exactly like that when they first met, too.</p>
<p>Geralt chuckles. “No, it does not. That situation’s been resolved, don’t worry. I’m not mad at you or Jaskier. And I’ll tell you the story of the black eyes later, when the rest’s here, too. No doubt baba and Lambert will want to hear it, too.”</p>
<p>“That’s… that’s good to hear. Sorry if I… created tension, though.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t. I was being an asshole.”</p>
<p>“When aren’t you, though?” Jaskier smiles when he hears Eskel laugh brightly, Geralt grumbling under his breath. “Wait, is it me or is your dog chewing on the couch cushions?”</p>
<p>“<em>Oh, for fuck’s sake-“</em></p>
<p>---</p>
<p>They open the shop a few weeks later.</p>
<p>It’s not the grandest of openings – nothing more than simply turning the sign from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ for the very first time, as a few people they know drop in throughout the day – but it leaves Jaskier giddy all the same, bouncing on his feet as he awaits his first customer.</p>
<p>Turns out that first customer is none other than their small neighbour, Ciri.</p>
<p>The bell above the door rings as she walks inside, green eyes taking in the shop in wonder. Jaskier grins, leaning his forearms on the counter so he can look over it.</p>
<p>“Well, good morning, my fair lady! What may I help you with today?”</p>
<p>She smiles at him brightly. “May I have some flowers please?” She stands on her tippy-toes to slide a fiver across the counter. “It’s for my grampa Eist. He’s in prison and we’re gonna visit him this afternoon.”</p>
<p>He nods solemnly. “Of course, follow me.” He crouches by one of the buckets. “We have these lovely tulips. May I interest you in those, my lady?”</p>
<p>So looks at them thoughtfully for a few seconds, before nodding once. “Yes, these will do, thank you very much.”</p>
<p>He gathers a few of them, taking his time to arrange them, tying them together with a ribbon. “Say,” he mutters while he works, “this grampa Eist of you, he wouldn’t happen to have black hair, now would he?”</p>
<p>Ciri nods. “He does.”</p>
<p>“And does he talk about how much he loves your gran-gran all the time?”</p>
<p>She nods again. “Do you know him?”</p>
<p>He snorts, thinking back to all the evenings he’s had to listen in his cell, listening to his cellmate Eist talk about his amazing wife and grandkid and how much he loves them. “I think I do, Cirilla. There we go.”</p>
<p>He finishes the bouquet, opening the cash drawer with a flourish, exchanging the fiver Ciri gave him for another one, handing it to her along with her flowers.</p>
<p>“Your bouquet, and your change, my lady.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, mister Rivia’s husband.” She curtsies, and heads out of the door.</p>
<p>“We’re not-“ he starts, but she’s already gone. He scoffs lightly and shakes his head, setting about to wiping off the counter, trying to ignore the way the word ‘husband’ echoes in his head.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“Hmm, what do you think, sugar?” the woman on the other counter asks the man standing next to her, making lovestruck doe-eyes at him.</p>
<p>The man chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I really have no idea, babe. I’m not very good with flowers.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay, it’s not really a thing for men, is it?” She suddenly looks at Jaskier, face falling a bit. “No offence, of course.”</p>
<p>He smiles softly, twirling his pen between his fingers. “None taken. If I may, I have a couple of suggestions?” The couple nods eagerly. “Personally, I’m very fond of Hydrangeas.” He walks around the counter, to the bucket in front of the window, taking one of the soft blue flowers. “And they’re very popular at weddings. And to fill out the bouquet, we can add some sprigs, and some Lily of the Valley for scent.”</p>
<p>He plucks a Lilly of the Valley from another bucket, and a green sprig, presenting the mini-bouquet to the bride-to-be.</p>
<p>“The Hydrangeas are also available in white, green and pink, if blue isn’t your thing.”</p>
<p>The woman takes the flowers, sniffing them gently. “Oh, that does smell lovely. What do you think, sugar?”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” the man hums and Jaskier has to press his lips together not to burst out laughing.</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re no help,” the woman chastises him playfully, smacking his chest before she turns back to Jaskier. “Honestly, little bit of advice, if your wife asks you a question, just answer,” she mock-whispers conspiratorially.</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes at her, leaning towards her across the counter a bit. “I know, right? My husband does that with me all the time as well.”</p>
<p>Her eyebrows shoot up slightly, and he gets the sneaking suspicion she didn’t realize he’s not straight – but really, he’s standing here in his own flower shop, in skinny jeans and a floral button-up, waving his hands as he talks like nobody’s business. Hell, he’s even cocked his hip and everything. If she didn’t realize, then that’s on her.</p>
<p>Her soon-to-be-husband definitely did though, growing a bit red as he tries to suppress his smile.</p>
<p>“Anyways,” he says, acting oblivious, “take your time to decide, have a look around the shop and think about it, and let me know if you decide on something!”</p>
<p>She smiles at him sweetly. “Thank you. Will do.”</p>
<p>He only later realizes he called Geralt his husband without second thought. He also realizes he really likes that title.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He turns his head this way and that, cracking his neck as he turns the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’, stretching his arms above his head as he walks to the door that leads to the stairs, turning the lights off when he closes it behind him.</p>
<p>It’s been a long day – not that he minds very much, though, he loves his work – and he’s about ready to collapse on the couch and not move for the rest of the evening.</p>
<p>The smell of food reaches him as he makes his way up, and he smiles when he hears Geralt’s soft voice. It’s not the first time he’s caught his love talking to Roach, even though Geralt keeps insisting that they’re not gonna keep her. He supposes it won’t be the last time this is gonna happen, either.</p>
<p>He stops in the doorway to the kitchen, watching as Roach sits on the floor next to Geralt – who’s standing at the stove –  her tail thumping on the wood as he continues to talk to her.</p>
<p>“Jaskier should be back, soon.” Roach wags her tail harder at the mention of Jaskier’s name. “Yeah, you love him, don’t you? I do, too. He’s the light of my life. Don’t tell him I said that, he’ll get insufferable if he knows. You know, I saw him this afternoon, in the shop, when I was bringing him his lunch. He was smelling the flowers, and he was just surrounded by all these colours and flowers and the sunlight made his hair look almost golden. I’m telling you, Roachie, if I was a painter, I would paint nothing but him.”</p>
<p>Jaskier presses his lips together, trying not to make a sound as tears fill his eyes. He’s always known Geralt loves him, but to hear his love talking about him like this is something he’s never got the privilege to experience before. Is this really how Geralt thinks about him?</p>
<p>Roach barks softly, and Geralt laughs, shaking his head. “Yes, yes, I know you’re hungry. Here.” He takes a piece of the sausage he’s baking, feeding it to Roach, scratching her neck. “There you go, you ravenous beast. Don’t tell Jaskier, though, or he’ll never let me hear the end of this.”</p>
<p>“No wonder she’s been gaining weight,” Jaskier says from the doorway. “You’ve been feeding her half our dinner.”</p>
<p>Geralt looks over his shoulder. “Hmm,” he hums, before he turns back to the stove, once again his old, non-verbal self.</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs, plastering himself to Geralt’s back, looping his arms around his waist and pressing his nose against his neck. “So does that mean we’re keeping the dog?”</p>
<p>Geralt sighs. “Sure. But only because you’ll keep whining for the rest of our lives if we don’t.”</p>
<p>“Okay, first of all, are you really gonna pretend you weren’t just spoiling her rotten?” Geralt harrumphs. “And secondly… the rest of our lives?”</p>
<p>Geralt stills, muscles tensing. “I mean… you don’t have to spend the rest of your life with me. If you don’t want to.”</p>
<p>He tightens his arms around his love, a giddy joy spreading through his chest. “I want to,” he whispers. Then: “Marry me. Marry me, Geralt. I want to spend the rest of my days loving you.”</p>
<p>Geralt turns around in his arms, pulling him close and burying his face in Jaskier’s neck. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, Jask, I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you back.”</p>
<p>He smiles, light filling him as he pulls back a bit, his lips finding Geralt’s blindly, kissing him softly, gently, sweetly.</p>
<p>“Geralt?” he whispers against his love’s lips.</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“I think the sausage is burning.”</p>
<p>He grins as Geralt curses, one hand searching blindly behind him to turn the stove off, the smell of burnt food spreading through the air around them.</p>
<p>Flowers and burnt sausages and soft kisses in the kitchen; it’s the start of the rest of his life.</p>
<p>He can’t wait.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright! C'est la fin, c'est la vie. I'm on tumblr, @king-finnigan.</p>
<p>If you want to read more of my writing after this fic, then please don't hesitate to check out Follow the Strange Trails or The Walls of Kaer Morhen, both of which have their first chapter up already. If you don't wanna, that's cool too, I guess.</p>
<p>Again, thank you all so so much for reading! And a special shoutout to everyone who left a comment! They really were bright spots in the dark world that is 2020 and they mean so much to me (and they really motivated me to write more, too! don't let anyone ever tell you that comments don't help to boost the final word count. they do.)</p>
<p>Anyways, good yard. Y'all are the best.</p>
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